


The Way Back to Daylight

by trailingoff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bring Back Black, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Minor Luna Lovegood/Parvati Patil, Minor Regulus Black/Severus Snape, Past Minor Sirius/Other, Remus Goes to the Underworld, Remus/Tonks Break Up, Temporary Character Death, Written Post-HBP Pre-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-18
Updated: 2007-07-10
Packaged: 2020-10-12 11:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20563676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trailingoff/pseuds/trailingoff
Summary: Remus will do anything to see Sirius again.*Night and day lie open the gates of death’s dark kingdom:But to retrace your steps, to find the way back to daylight—That is the task, the hard thing.—Virgil,Aeneid, VI. 128-130 (Oxford World Classics Ed.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal from September 2006 to July 2007.

Two letters, one photograph. Tonks knelt on the bedroom carpet and laid them out in a row. Both letters were in the same hand, but one had been written the usual way, on parchment, while the other was pencil-scrawled on paper.   
  
Fingers pressed to her mouth, Tonks picked up the photograph. It was a casual shot of two young men, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, taken by someone sitting opposite them at the Leaky Cauldron. They were saluting the camera with overflowing mugs, grinning like they owned the world.  
  
This, Tonks realised, was the earliest photo of Remus she’d ever seen. As far as she knew, there weren’t any others, not even childhood albums. She’d never asked why. Actually, she’d never given it much thought, but now she wished he’d kept them; she’d never seen him so flushed and happy. He would have looked completely different if it weren’t for his golden-brown eyes, and his grin that, even then, was full of secrets.   
  
Sirius, too, was almost unrecognisable. His face was unlined and open, too smooth and delicate to be handsome, though he was beautiful in a not-of-this-earth kind of way. He was trying his best to look tough, though, in his bulky leather jacket and stud earring, with a pirate tilt to his mouth. 

Remus always spoke of Sirius as though he’d been reckless, powerful and charming, but Tonks could only remember desperation and helplessness, and the sound of Sirius yelling at someone in another room, the words muffled. Now, with the photograph clutched in her hand, she saw Sirius through Remus’s eyes. Everyone else had focused on the changes wrought by grief and Azkaban; only Remus had tried to bring Sirius back, to restore him. He would have succeeded, too, if Sirius had lived. Tonks was sure of it.  
  
She’d often wondered what their relationship had been like in their youth, and she couldn’t help being interested by their behaviour in the photograph. Remus’s arm was looped over Sirius’s shoulders, his long-fingered hand dangling loose and open above his lover’s heart. It could have been a gesture between friends, nothing more, until Remus turned to kiss Sirius’s earring, his mouth curving with bliss. Sirius twisted in his chair and their lips met, wet and open. 

Tonks turned the photograph over and set it down. On the other side, yellowed with age, someone had written _March 1979_. She’d turned six in 1979. Thinking back, she couldn’t remember anything about that year except her birthday party (fairy costumes and a purple cake) and a few Christmas presents (_The Amazing Agatha: Auror Adventuress_, a box of sparkly hair-ties, and a puffskein she’d named Squeak).  
  
She picked up the parchment letter and decided she wouldn’t read it. She’d only wanted a thicker pair of socks because the heating charms were down and Remus wasn’t home to warm her up. That was all she’d expected when she’d reached into his sock drawer.   
  
Well, there was no harm done. All she needed to do was put everything back and pretend she’d never seen it. She glanced down at the letter, then looked at the open drawer. She imagined putting the letter back in the drawer without reading it; tucking it in under the socks, then closing the drawer and trying to forget. The letter smelt of old ink and paper and faintly, strangely, of sweat. It was creased all over; it had been scrunched and folded and straightened and pressed a hundred times. She couldn’t put it away.   
  
Tonks scowled. She sat, glaring at the letter, and chewed her thumbnail to the quick. In a moment, another nail had grown to take its place, so she chewed that one as well.   
  
She was going to read it. She _had_ to. Fuck it. She would read both of them. Why not? Remus had hidden them in his sock drawer and hadn’t transfigured them into socks, so he deserved it. Besides, she’d been living with him for more than two years. If she didn’t have the right to go through his sock drawer, then who did?  
  
Still kneeling, Tonks lifted the letter close to her face because the handwriting was jagged and loopy, nearly impossible to read.

_Remus,_

_I used to be able to say it’s been a month and fifteen days since I’ve seen you, I miss you so much and I’ll see you soon. Now I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing._   
  
_It was a dark day. I mean really, actually dark. The whole forest burned. So much smoke the sky was black. It turned the moon red at night. Really pale red, though, not like blood at all, more like it was blushing, it was ashamed of what it saw. I don’t know why they did it. Maybe just because they could. I keep saying we should get back to England to fight but apparently this is more important right now and I’m sure this is boring you so I’ll shut up._   
  
_ I love you. I know I said it before but I thought it was just love. I thought it was just like people normally mean but honestly I can’t do anything without you. Fuck, I hate you. You’re so bloody cold. So cruel to me when I know I was wrong. How many times do I have to apologise? I feel like you want me to die saying sorry over and over until I can’t breathe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It was one-off and stupid and I was lonely because it had been a really long time without you and he looked like you. _  
  
_ I know this sounds half-arsed but it’s the best I can do when I don’t know where you are and you won’t talk to me. Please be there when I get back. I’ll make you tea and read to you and we’ll sit up late talking and I’ll kiss you. Moony, I love you. I belong to you._  
  
_ Sirius_

  
Tonks closed her eyes and let the letter drift to the floor. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and realised her feet were still freezing. Her shoulders were cramped and one of her legs had gone to sleep, but she couldn’t move.   
  
She’d never read or written a letter like it. Why had Remus kept that letter? There must have been hundreds of letters between them and he’d kept that one, the most desperate, aggravating, loving words Sirius could have written. Despite the intensity of the letter, something told Tonks that it wouldn’t have swayed Remus. Sirius, undoubtedly, had returned to an empty flat; and yet, Remus had kept Sirius’s letter.  
  
Shaking her head, Tonks picked up the second letter. In for a penny, in for a pound, as her dad would have said. This letter was even more difficult to read, because it had obviously been erased and rewritten a number of times.

  
_Hello Remus,_  
  
_ I can’t tell you where I am or anything about what I’m doing. I just wanted you to know that I’m alive. And, as it turns out, I still have most of my teeth. Buckbeak is well too, although he doesn’t favour the heat, has shed lots of feathers and squints all the time. I bought him a pair of sunglasses but he didn’t appreciate my sense of humour. _  
  
_ I hope you’re all right. Dumbledore told me you’re not working for him anymore, but he didn’t say why. I hope maybe we can meet soon but I’m not sure where or how. There are a lot of things I don’t remember well and I’m hoping we can talk about them. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. _  
  
_ I never forgot about us and I still feel the same way I’ve always felt. Of course it’s been a long time for you and you’ve moved on and everything. I just thought I should tell you. Maybe that means you won’t want to see me again and if that’s true then don’t write back because I don’t think I can hear it. _  
  
_ Sirius_

  
That was all, then. Tonks set the second letter down, stood up, and slumped backwards onto the bed, her arms and legs spread wide across the covers. Staring at the ceiling, cracked and cream-painted, she remembered how Remus had kissed her goodbye two days ago, with a brush of lips against her cheek. His breath had smelt of marmalade-on-toast and he’d said, “See you soon.”   
  
The letters and photograph were remnants of a relationship that had shaped his whole life. Tonks knew him well, but until now she hadn’t understood how he’d handled his grief. As she stared up at the bedroom ceiling, she could see it clearly.  
  
Most of the time, Remus didn’t let himself think about Sirius. He hadn’t reread the letters in years, but he took out the photograph every once in a while, to see Sirius’s face. He’d thought about getting rid of them, but he couldn’t bear to. They were all he had left. He kept them buried in his sock drawer because he didn’t want his girlfriend to find them. He didn’t want to hurt her. He’d never wanted to hurt her.   
  
Tonks knew what she had to do. She stood, stretched, re-hid the papers, then grabbed a pair of Remus’s thick woollen socks. He’d be gone all week, so he wouldn’t notice. He was off on a trip with his students, studying kobolds. He wrote every second day or so, and his letters were about what the kids had been up to and the book he’d been reading and the film he wanted to see. He always asked how she was and how work was going. He never wrote _I love you. I belong to you. _and he rarely said he missed her; but maybe he’d written normal letters to Sirius, too. After all, he hadn’t saved any of his own.  
  
Frowning, Tonks padded to the kitchen and made herself a mug of tea. She put on a Weird Sisters record, full blast, but she kept hearing Sirius’s voice, low and rough, saying _Moony, I love you._ She wasn’t sure why those particular words had stuck. Maybe it was the nickname, _Moony_. No one called Remus by his nickname anymore. The tight-knit group he’d belonged to, the Marauders, no longer existed. He was the last surviving member. His adventures were over and, Tonks sometimes thought, if someone wrote a book about Remus’s life, it would end at Peter’s death. She and Remus were living in a hastily written epilogue: _And the two of them resided contentedly in a little house in Dorset for the rest of their days._   
  
The house was small, clean and redbrick; on the outside it looked like every Muggle house in the neighbourhood. It had a front yard of trimmed rosebushes and trees, and a neat lawn at the back that sprouted white daisies and dandelions in the spring. Every day, _The Times_ and a bottle of milk were delivered to the door.   
  
Appearances were deceiving, of course. Inside, the house was filled with colourful furniture from around the world, most of it magical. The walls were hung with moving pictures, and lined with ceiling-high bookshelves stocked mainly with spell books. Potions ingredients took up several kitchen cupboards, and there was a large black cauldron on the bench beside the stove.   
  
None of this was new to Tonks; she’d lived in a house like it for most of her life. What _was_ new was her feeling of responsibility; she was in charge now, she was the co-owner, and it was up to her to spend the rest of her life living in this house, making it a home. Well, it was up to her and Remus.   
  
Tonks sipped her tea and stared out the kitchen window, watching as the wind shook some last leaves from an oak tree. She imagined a tyre-swing hanging from its branches, and Remus pushing a laughing, squealing child.   
  
There was no going past it; Tonks wanted all the usual things out of life. Things Remus hadn’t wanted for years, if ever. His story might have reached the epilogue, but hers was only getting started, and she was looking forward to the next chapter. She wanted to experience everything Remus had experienced and more. Above all, she wanted someone to send her a love letter that she’d keep in her sock drawer forever.

  
\---

  
On Friday night, Remus returned by floo. He found Tonks asleep on the couch, wrapped in her favourite violet blanket. She was snoring, loudly, and her feet twitched against the armrest. Her hair was the colour of oil shifting across dark water, with occasional bursts of bright yellow. With a smile, Remus summoned a glass of Ogden’s Finest and sat for a while, watching her. He took slow sips of his drink, savouring it after his weeklong break from alcohol.  
  
When he finished, he set his glass down on the coffee table and picked up _The Daily Prophet_, lying open at the real estate section. He wondered why Tonks had been looking at that part of the paper. House hunting for Harry and Ginny? He noticed she’d circled a couple of flats, both in London near the Ministry. They were tiny one-bedroom, one-bathroom flats, but they boasted talking mirrors on the bathroom cabinets, something Tonks had always been fond of.   
  
Remus frowned and looked up at his lover. She mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over, her snoring cutting off. He reread the flats she’d circled and decided they certainly weren’t for Harry and Ginny. Why had she circled them, then? He couldn’t think of any reason except one, but he didn’t want to contemplate it. He just wanted to take a shower, go to bed, and discuss this in the morning, when Tonks would hopefully provide another explanation.  
  
He was about to move, but Tonks snorted and sat up suddenly, rubbing her eyes with her palms. As she stretched her arms above her head, her muscles shifted and reformed several times before returning to their usual shape. Remus tried to fold the paper back to the way he’d found it, but as soon as it rustled she turned to face him, smiling.  
  
“Oh,” she said, after a wide yawn. “Wotcher—oh fuck.” She’d noticed _The Prophet_, and her expression told Remus everything he’d dreaded.  
  
“Yes,” he replied. “I expect you weren’t planning to tell me like this.”  
  
“I just closed my eyes for a minute. Didn’t realise I was so tired,” she said. “Look, Remus—”  
  
“It’s all right,” he said, with a strained smile.  
  
It wasn’t, of course. He’d been feeling pleasantly warm and numb from the Firewhiskey, but now he was just numb. He’d had so much practice with being hurt, in every way imaginable, that he’d become like a stone at the bottom of a riverbed, smoothed out by the current but still hard, down in the cold and dark.  
  
Tonks curled up, her knees to her chest, and put her face in her hands. “Honestly, Remus, I was only looking,” she said, then shook her head. “Well, actually…I was thinking about things. I was thinking a lot, while you were away. I picked up the paper, and I thought, _that flat looks nice_, and I just started…I mean, I didn’t mean to—”  
  
“As I said, Nymphadora, it’s all right.”  
  
She looked up at him, her eyelashes wet and her mouth turned down. “Please don’t call me that.”  
  
“You’re leaving me,” he said, his voice still mild. “I’ll call you what I like.”  
  
Tonks stood up, moving as though she wanted to walk over and touch him. Then she paused and said, “Remus…”  
  
He stared up at her. “Is there someone else?” he asked.  
  
Tonks didn’t look guilty, but she didn’t seem surprised by the question. Briefly, he wondered whether she knew what Sirius had done, years ago, to the boy he’d been. She couldn’t know, of course. He’d never told her.   
  
“No,” she said. “There’s no one else. I wouldn’t do that to you.”  
  
Remus stared at her for few more seconds, then pressed his hand over his eyes. He wasn’t crying; he hadn’t cried in years. He wasn’t even shaking, but Tonks was there in a moment, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and rocking him. He could smell her shampoo, her mild soap, and the scent of her underneath; her hair, her sweat and her breath. She was sleep-warm and supple, and her breasts were crushed against his collarbone. He pressed his lips to the smooth skin of her neck.  
  
“I love you,” she said.   
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
“I’m leaving you, though,” she whispered, into his hair.  
  
“I know.”

  
\---

  
In 1981, when Sirius was arrested, Remus returned from a mission in Helsinki to the flat they’d shared since Hogwarts. At first, he didn’t know how he’d sort through their possessions. He wanted to vanish them all, or to send them far off into the ocean, but he didn’t have the money to buy food, let alone furniture. In the end, he divided his possessions from Sirius’s with a ruthlessness that, the year before, would have been unimaginable to them both. It only took two days.   
  
The worst part turned out to be the ordinary traces of Sirius; not the objects he left behind, but rather his use of them. There was a mushy bar of soap in the shower, a crumpled towel on the hallway floor, an unmade bed that reeked of alcohol and masturbation, and a kitchen stocked with mouldy, half-eaten food.   
  
Remus kept expecting to find evidence of Sirius’s infidelity, but there was none. The most interesting discovery was a teetering stack of photographs on the bedside table, blurred with fingerprint smudges. Most were of Remus, just Remus, dating back to when he was child, before he was bitten. A few were of the two of them, though, out at parties and pubs and on holidays, with Sirius behaving as though he was in love.   
  
While looking at these photographs, Remus realised he’d never be able to trust anyone again. He destroyed them, one by one, with wordless burning spells.   
  
He decided to keep the last photograph as a reminder, and slipped it into his pocket. For the next thirteen years he took it everywhere with him, along with one of Sirius’s letters. He rarely looked at them or even thought of them, but like tremors deep within the earth, their hidden presence shaped the landscape of his life.

  
\---

  
Tonks decided not to move to London. When she left for Romania, she sold her half of the house to Remus. He tried to live in it for a while, but like the flat he’d once divided in London, there were too many reminders of a shared life. One morning, while searching for an egg cup, he discovered her second favourite mug, glittery-pink, in the cupboard above the sink, where it had been misplaced months before. Her favourite, orange-swirled with a chip on the handle, was long gone.   
  
Remus sat down, set the mug on the table in front of him, and knew he was going to sell the house. He would sell it in the spring, to a Muggle family who’d hang tire-swings from the trees and clutter the doorway with muddy shoes. It was a house for a family, after all. He wasn’t sure why he and Tonks had bought it in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “…in everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can't go forward any more. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”
> 
> —Haruki Murakami, from _Kafka on the Shore_ (Vintage: London, 2005), p. 173


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was shelling peas into a bowl, his mouth drawn tight. A pile of pods, mangled and empty, lay at his elbow. He hadn’t spoken since he’d run inside from the rain half an hour before, carrying a basket filled with the peas, some tomatoes and apples, and a bushel of rosemary that Remus had hung to dry above the sink.   
  
Now the rain was lulling, a decrescendo against the roof-tiles and windows. Remus was sitting opposite Harry, watching him while feigning interest in _The Prophet_ cryptic crossword. There was a jug of red geraniums on the table between them, but Remus could see enough to know that Harry was about to speak. The boy kept glancing up, surreptitiously, then shrugging, grimacing and looking down at his hands again.  
  
When he’d emptied the last of the pods, he swallowed, pushed the bowl towards the centre of the table and cleared his throat. Remus glanced up from the crossword with a neutral half-smile, laying down his quill.  
  
“The weather’s been strange lately, hasn’t it?” Harry began.   
  
Remus’s smile widened. “Yes, it has.”  
  
“It doesn’t feel like summer yet, and it’s nearly August,” Harry continued, tugging on the sleeve of his navy-blue jumper.  
  
“Yes. My garden is certainly suffering for it. Hardly any apples this year.”  
  
“Hmm.”   
  
There was a pause.   
  
“How long are you planning to rent this cottage?” Harry asked.  
  
“I’m not sure. Perhaps just until the end of summer.”  
  
There was another pause, and Harry cleared his throat again. “Remus?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Were you…when you were living with Tonks…were you planning to marry her?”  
  
Remus raised his eyebrows. “I—no. I’m not exactly the marrying kind.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry bit his lip and kept his eyes on Remus’s right ear. “Sorry.”  
  
“Harry, is there something troubling you?” Remus asked, reassuming the role of a sympathetic Professor. “Something you’d like to talk about?”  
  
“Look, I need…” Harry began. He shook his head, but then he nodded and said, “I need your advice. I need the opinion of someone with your experience.”  
  
Remus stifled the quirk of his lips with a cough. “Experience in affairs of the heart?”  
  
“Exactly,” said Harry, relieved. Then, suddenly, he was tense again. “But, I mean, it’s all right if you don’t want to…I understand if it’s too personal.”  
  
Under the combined scents of rain-damp wool, peas and earth, Remus could smell Harry’s nervous, excited sweat, and if he listened hard enough, he could hear the humming thump of the boy’s heart. Was Harry about to—? No, surely not.  
  
“You can ask me anything, Harry. I might not be able to answer your questions, but I promise I’ll do my best. I should warn you, though, that there are things about me you might not be aware of; things I’ve deliberately kept from you. Concerning affairs of the heart, that is.”  
  
Harry smiled and spread his palms flat on the table. “If you’re talking about you and Sirius,” he said, meeting Remus’s eyes, “I already know.”  
  
Neither of them spoke for a moment. The kitchen was silent except for the rain.  
  
Then, “Oh,” said Remus. “How?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Hermione told me. She saw the two of you, years ago, when we stayed at Grimmauld Place over the holidays.”  
  
“She…she _saw_ us?”  
  
“Just kissing, was what she said,” Harry replied, shrugging again as though it wasn’t important.   
  
The poor girl must have had the shock of her life, Remus thought, recalling how rarely he and Sirius had kissed without one of them being shoved against a wall.  
  
“She didn’t tell anyone else; not even Ron,” Harry continued. “I mean, we haven’t talked about it, but I’m pretty sure I know what he thinks about que—” he stopped himself just in time, a hand pressed over his mouth “—anyway, I thought it was better not to.”  
  
“So you’ve known about us, all this time?”  
  
“No, Hermione didn’t tell me until last year.”  
  
“Ah,” said Remus, with a quick, knowing smile, “so that’s why you didn’t visit all through spring?”  
  
Harry looked down and started fidgeting with a peapod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I was really busy, with the Auror exams and everything, but…but that was the main reason. I didn’t handle it well. It’s a good thing Hermione didn’t tell me earlier, because I wouldn’t have handled it at all.”  
  
“How did you come to terms with it?”  
  
Harry smiled, keeping his eyes on the pod as he twisted it between his fingers. “I realised I was being a git,” he said. “Back at school it was always a joke, an insult; I’d never thought about it seriously before.” He looked up suddenly, meeting Remus’s eyes. “You and Sirius loved each other, though, didn’t you?”  
  
At moments like this, Remus felt as though he was standing at a distance from himself, watching his body as it spoke. It was odd, even now, to hear Sirius referred to in the past tense, and even stranger to respond to it.   
  
“Yes,” he said.  
  
Harry grinned, but his eyes were wet behind his glasses. “I’m glad someone loved him, and I’m glad it was you.”  
  
Remus tried to speak and failed, so he coughed instead. His hands were clenched, white-knuckled, and hidden in his lap. He hadn’t been this close to breaking down in years.  
  
Finally, his voice returned. “Thank you, Harry. I’m glad you feel that way. Sirius would have been, too. He wanted to tell you about us.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Well…” Remus considered it for a moment. “I suppose, mainly because we hid our relationship from your father. As far as I’m aware, James never found out. Your mother may have, but I can’t say for certain. Sometimes she would give me this look, this knowing look…but that’s all water under the bridge, now. The important thing is that Sirius wanted you to know who he really was, because James never got the chance. But I…I reminded him that you aren’t James. I said we should wait.”  
  
“I think you were right.”  
  
“Maybe I was, but it shouldn’t have been my decision.” Remus’s voice had lowered, had darkened, but he couldn’t stop speaking. “Padfoot was always too quick to obey me. He should have done what he thought was best. Who knows how it might have worked out? After all, your well-being was always his top priority; you were the first person in his thoughts. He knew he could never replace James, and he didn’t want to, but he still cared for you like a father.”  
  
“He made me feel like a son,” Harry replied, speaking almost in a whisper. “I’d never had that feeling before, you know…that feeling of someone watching over me, all the time, wanting the best for me. I made all these plans. I’d lie awake half the night sometimes, thinking about them. We were going to live together; be a family.”  
  
“I made plans, too,” Remus confessed.   
  
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Remus wondered whether he’d said everything there was to say; if he’d ever need to speak again.   
  
Then Harry asked, in a faltering voice, “Remus, did you ever think about—?”  
  
Remus knew what Harry was about to ask, and he couldn’t hear it. “No.”   
  
Harry took a deep breath. “It’s just that I looked into it, and—”  
  
It was too much. Remus got up and walked to the window. He stood with his back to Harry, bracing himself with his hands on the sill. Outside, the rain continued to fall, and the garden continued to grow. The birds still sang. The sun still rose every morning and set every night. Tonks was in Romania. Sirius was dead. Remus was standing in the kitchen of a rented cottage, and he was alive.  
  
“Remus?”  
  
“No, Harry,” Remus managed. “Please, whatever happens, don’t. It can’t be done without Dark Magic; it breaks every law of nature. Not only that, but it never works. Believe me, I’ve seen what happens. They come back blind and hairless and unable to walk or speak. I would rather die myself than…” 

He heard Harry’s chair creak back, then swift footsteps on the tiles behind him. A warm, tentative hand came to rest on his shoulder.   
  
“So would I,” said Harry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just thought if there was a way, another way, you’d know about it.”  
  
“There’s no need to apologise, Harry,” Remus replied, somehow keeping his voice steady. “I overreacted.”

With a breath of relief, Harry removed his hand and stepped back. Remus turned around and gave him a quick, reassuring smile.  
  
“How about I make a pot of tea?” he asked. “Then you can tell me what’s been troubling you, and ask me whatever you like.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
That night, after they’d eaten dinner and Harry had Apparated home, Remus opened a bottle of red wine. The rain had stopped, so he took a chair outside and sat on the lawn, under the stars, drinking straight out of the bottle. When he finished it, he lay down on the damp grass and stared up at the sky. The moon was fingernail-sharp and close to the horizon, and the balmy air smelt of mud and overripe roses. It was the kind of night, Remus thought, that should be shared; that shouldn’t be spent alone.  
  
He closed his eyes, tried not to think, and soon fell asleep. He dreamt, as he often did, of running through the Forbidden Forest, chasing a large black dog. When he woke, hours later, the night air had cooled, but the stars seemed even brighter.  
  
Shivering, he was about to get up and go inside to bed, when he heard something rustle on the grass beside him. He turned his head, alarmed, and realised it was only Sirius.  
  
“Hello, Padfoot,” he said with a smile.  
  
“Oh, you’re awake,” Sirius replied, turning to look at him.  
  
Sirius was twenty years old, unlined and unmarred, with a careless grin. He was lying sprawled out on the lawn, dressed in his favourite leather jacket and jeans. His silver earring glinted like a diamond. There was something odd about him, though. His skin was bone white in the starlight, and Remus couldn’t see his eyes, not even a gleam. Still, it was Sirius. He was solid, he was real, and his breath steamed out into the cold air.   
  
Remus reached over, took Sirius’s hand, blood-warm and smooth, and twined their fingers together.   
  
Sirius squeezed his hand. “What’ve you been up to, Moony?”  
  
“Missing you.”  
  
“Ah,” Sirius replied, with a solemn nod, though his mouth turned up at the corner. “So, you can’t live without me?”   
  
Remus chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m doing all right.”  
  
“Bollocks. You’re pining away.”  
  
“Alas, alack,” Remus murmured, stroking his thumb across the back of Sirius’s hand.  
  
“How’s Harry?”  
  
“Looks more like James every time I see him. He was just here today, actually, visiting me. He’s a good lad; comes to see me more than I saw my parents after school.”  
  
“_A good lad_,” Sirius mimicked, in a teasing whisper. “You sound old.”  
  
“I _am_ old, Padfoot.”  
  
“Not really. You’re barely middle-aged.”  
  
Remus raised an eyebrow, letting his silence speak for him.  
  
“You’re only as old as you feel,” said Sirius, in an earnest whisper this time.  
  
“Yes,” Remus replied, equally earnest, “that’s why you’ll always be thirteen.”  
  
“Oh, don’t say that, Moony,” said Sirius, laughing. “They’d lock you up for that.”  
  
Remus smiled. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”  
  
They lay there in silence for a while, stargazing, their hands still clasped on the grass between them.  
  
“Tell me more about Harry,” said Sirius. “I’m curious.”  
  
“He looks like James, but when it comes to decision-making, he takes after Lily. You should have heard him today, Padfoot. It turns out he’s been agonising over whether he should ask Ginny to marry him.”  
  
“The little Weasley girl?”  
  
“She’s grown into a very attractive young woman. They’ve been seeing each other since the end of the war, and they moved in together last year.”  
  
“So, he wants to marry her. What’s the problem?”  
  
“There’s no problem, as far as I can see. Harry just wanted my advice. He thinks they might be too young; he’s concerned he won’t be able to handle the responsibility. But I think that, at the heart of the matter, he’s worried she’ll turn him down.”  
  
Sirius shook his head, bemused. “You told him to go for it, yeah?”  
  
“Of course. Her answer will never be certain, but if he really wants to spend his life with her, he should ask as soon as possible. I’m sure she’ll say yes; I’ve seen the way she looks at him. He’s lucky to be loved so well, at such a young age. I’ll be picking out an engagement gift soon, there’s no doubt about it.”  
  
“I hope you’re right,” Sirius replied. “Remember when James asked Lily?”  
  
“Of course. Completely spur of the moment. Or, at least, he never breathed a word to us about it.”  
  
“You almost choked on your porridge when he told you. I had to slap you on the back.”  
  
They grinned at each other, and Remus realised he was playing with Sirius’s fingers, stroking and gently bending them, as he’d done when they were teenagers.  
  
“Remember when I asked you, Moony?” Sirius asked, in a rough, low voice.  
  
“Yeah,” Remus replied, in kind.  
  
“Remember what you said?”  
  
“I said we’d never be able to get married. I said it was impossible.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
“I said as far as I was concerned, we were already married. So it didn’t matter, anyway. It didn’t matter what anyone would think, if they found out. I loved you, and you loved me. No one could change that, no matter what they did to us.”  
  
Remus pulled his hand, slowly, from Sirius’s grasp. He turned his head to face the sky. “I still feel that way, Padfoot. I think I always will.”  
  
This time, Sirius didn’t reply. Remus didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore. He knew, all too well, that Sirius wasn’t going to return on a summer night, to lie out on the lawn beneath the waning moon and a sky of countless glittering stars. Sirius was gone.  
  
Even so, Remus thought, as he got to his feet and stretched his aching muscles; even so, it felt good to pretend.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
The first time Remus thought Sirius was dead, they were fighting a group of Death Eaters behind a pub in Brixton.   
  
They’d signalled for back-up, but it didn’t look like they’d be needing it. The two of them were shielded by a pile of rubbish, while the Death Eaters were trapped against a brick wall, exposed and vulnerable. They were obviously young and inexperienced, probably still at school. Two were knocked out already; the others were huddled together, trying to protect themselves with shaky spells, on the verge of giving up.  
  
Then, suddenly, Remus lost his footing on an empty beer bottle and swayed sideways into the line of fire. As he righted himself, he saw Sirius walk out in front of the Death Eaters. He saw a flash of green light hit Sirius in the chest.  
  
Never mind that Sirius was crouching beside him, safe behind the rubbish heap. Never mind that Sirius had grabbed his legs and was telling him to, “Get down, get down, get the fuck _down_, Moony!” Sirius had been hit by an _Avada Kedavra_, and was lying in front of Remus in the alleyway, dead.  
  
When Remus woke in St. Mungo’s, Lily was sitting beside his bed, reading the latest _Witch Weekly_. She put it down when she noticed him stirring, and met his eyes.  
  
“It’s all right,” Remus told her, hoarse-voiced. “I know Sirius is dead.”  
  
Lily didn’t reply for a moment, as though she couldn’t find the right words. Remus knew, then, that it was true. Sirius was gone.   
  
“Remus…” she began.   
  
“Please, don’t say anything. I saw him fall. I know he’s dead. I’d like to rest now, if that’s all right.”  
  
“You must have been hit by a Confundus charm,” Lily said, speaking too quickly for him to interrupt. “Sirius isn’t dead. He just went to get some tea; he’ll be back any minute.”  
  
Remus nodded but he didn’t believe her, not until the door swung open and Sirius walked into the room. He was holding a mug of tea in each hand; it was a wonder he hadn’t scalded himself.  
  
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said, when he saw Remus. “Want a cup of tea?”   
  
Lily got up, smiled at them both, and slipped out of the room. Remus could only stare.  
  
“What?” Sirius asked. He sat in the chair Lily had just vacated and set the tea on the bedside table. “What is it, Moony? Have I got something in my teeth?”  
  
Remus shook his head. “It’s just that…well, that you’re alive. I saw you die, but you’re alive.”  
  
Sirius moved to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling Remus into his arms. Remus stroked his hands over Sirius’s shoulders and back, comforted by their warmth and solidity, and by the steady beat of Sirius’s heart. He pressed his face against Sirius’s neck, kissing the smooth, hot skin he found, and licking Sirius’s Adam’s apple. Sirius smelt of aftershave, soap and dog, and he murmured reassuring words into Remus’s hair.  
  
“I never want you to die,” said Remus. He said it matter-of-factly, but he was crying, tears soaking into the collar of Sirius’s robes.  
  
“I’m going to have to die sometime. Everyone does.”  
  
“Then I want to die first.”  
  
Sirius just held him tighter. They never spoke of it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I've been thinking about you, baby,  
By the light of dawn, and in my blues,  
Day and night, I've been missing you.”
> 
> \- Massive Attack, ‘Live With Me’


	3. Chapter 3

It was the worst time of year to be shopping for an engagement gift. The back-to-school sales were in full swing, and every corner of Diagon Alley was choked with bargain-hunting families. Remus couldn’t get any peace; not even in Flourish & Blotts, far to the back behind the Gardening section. A group of second years in Headless Hats were chasing each other with trick wands, laughing and yelling. Remus smiled at their invisible faces, trying to seem harmless and inconspicuous as he edged past.  
  
As he made his way further and further into the shop, through ceiling-high shelves of thick, rarely browsed volumes, the children’s voices grew muffled. Gradually, they faded altogether, and Remus could hear two new voices, unmistakably female, whispering not far ahead of him.  
  
“Mmm, that’s nice…_mmm_…”  
  
“Shhh…someone will hear us…mmm…_yeah_…just like that…”  
  
There was a series of muffled moans, before the first voice said, “There must be hundreds of Spine-dwelling Slitherings listening to us, you know. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”  
  
“Spine-dwelling _what_?”   
  
“Well, Muggles call them ‘book worms’, but really they’re more like snakes, except with invisible legs. To help them climb the shelves, you see.”  
  
The other voice giggled.  
  
“They are funny creatures, aren’t they?” the first voice continued. “Quite shy, but that’s to be expected. Booksellers have been working in secret to wipe them out, even though they don’t harm the…mmm…_oh_…Don’t you want to hear about the Slitherings?”  
  
“Can’t help it. Whenever you talk about magical creatures, your mouth does that _thing_…you know, it gets very serious, and your eyes crinkle up at the corners, and your nose twitches. You look all earnest and sweet.”  
  
“I like your mouth, too. Are we going to kiss more now, or would you rather buy your book and kiss at home?”  
  
“Let’s get home; the dust is making my nose itch.”  
  
By then, Remus was only half-listening. He was leaning against a bookshelf, thinking about the glorious hours he’d spent with Sirius in the Restricted Section. The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him out of his memories, and he realised he’d been eavesdropping on a private moment. Frowning at his carelessness, he straightened and started combing through the shelves. A moment later, the two women appeared around a corner.   
  
Remus had already recognised their voices: Parvati Patil and Luna Lovegood, both former soldiers (and students) of his. Before the war, he’d often mistaken Parvati for her twin, Padma, but not any longer; Fenrir Greyback had given Parvati a jagged scar across her nose, and another, deeper one along her throat. The fight had occurred in a room filled with carnage, but it stood out particularly in Remus’s mind. As he’d knocked Fenrir aside with a hex, Luna had knelt in the gushing blood and pressed her wand to the wound, sealing it in time to save Parvati’s life.   
  
Since the war, Remus had seen the two women quite often, but only because they were friends of Ginny’s. He’d sensed they were lovers for a long time, although he’d never been sure whether their relationship was secret. Now, as he looked at Parvati’s uncomfortable face, he knew that she, at least, didn’t want him to find out.  
  
“Professor Lupin,” said Luna, who refused to call him anything else, “what a nice surprise. Have you noticed any Slitherings in the shelves?”  
  
Remus raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I’m afraid I haven’t, Luna, but I’ll be sure to keep a lookout.”  
  
Parvati gave him a polite smile, though she was still avoiding his eyes. “So, what brings you to Flourish & Blotts?” she asked.  
  
“I’ve been shopping all day for Harry’s engagement gift. I’m afraid I’ve left it to the last minute, and now I’m completely at a loss. The crowds aren’t helping, of course. How about the two of you? What have you been up to?”   
  
“Oh, Parvati likes to do this sometimes,” said Luna, with a smile. “She thinks it makes us more exciting.”  
  
Parvati glared at her girlfriend. “Ha ha, very funny, Luna. Actually, we’re shopping for a book of spells to fix musical instruments, because _someone_’s dog chewed my violin to shreds.”  
  
“He didn’t mean to,” said Luna, serene as always. “You left it lying on the couch. He probably thought it was a shoe.”  
  
“Mistook a violin for a shoe? Your dog is daft, Luna, but I suppose all dogs are. Don’t you think so, Remus? Have you ever owned a dog?”  
  
Remus wouldn’t have sworn his life on it, but he thought Luna winked at him.  
  
“Yes, dogs can be a handful,” he said, hoping to avoid the question. “I didn’t know you played the violin, Parvati.”   
  
She shrugged. “I only just started, really.”  
  
“Do you charm the strings, or do you play by hand?”  
  
“Both, but mostly by hand. I like the way the instrument feels. There’s something nice about doing things the Muggle way sometimes, especially with music.”  
  
“Yes, I know what you mean,” said Remus, “I’ve never played an instrument, but I’m fond of cooking by hand. Whenever Harry comes by, we make a meal together.”  
  
“Well,” said Parvati, “why don’t you cook something for the engagement party?”  
  
“I thought of that, but they’ve already booked Dobby’s catering company.”  
  
“What about flowers? Or a photo album?” asked Luna. “Isn’t that what people usually buy?”   
  
“That’s true,” said Parvati. “It’s only an engagement gift, after all. The wedding present is the important thing.”  
  
“Well, I’d like to get something more permanent than flowers,” Remus replied, “and something more original than an album.”   
  
The truth was, he and Sirius had bought a bouquet of pinkish-white roses and a large, gold-embossed photo album for James and Lily, along with a bottle of champagne, but Remus thought it wise not to bring up the past.  
  
“Have you been to Cardigan Alley yet?” Luna asked, suddenly.  
  
Parvati snorted. “What, with all the junk shops and old biddies drinking tea?” she scoffed. “I don’t think Remus will find what he’s looking for _there_.”  
  
“Actually,” said Luna, dreamy-eyed with a vague smile, “actually, Professor Lupin, I think you’ll find _exactly_ what you’re looking for in Cardigan Alley.”  
  
Parvati rolled her eyes, but Remus was entranced by Luna’s words. He’d never intended to look in Cardigan Alley, but as he said goodbye to the two women and headed out of Flourish & Blotts, he decided to follow Luna’s advice.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Remus had never been to Cardigan Alley, though he’d walked past it several times. It was at the far end of Diagon Alley, beginning in the thin gap between a shoe shop and a pub. Remus had always assumed the alley was a tiny area with a few run-down shops, but the further he walked inside, the wider it opened up, until it was more like a town square. With its pastel-coloured shopfronts and gleaming cobblestones, it was Knockturn Alley’s better-half. Sunlight flooded in, allowing crowds of elderly ladies to sit outdoors under umbrellas, drinking tea and eating honey-dribbling scones.   
  
As Remus made his way past the tables of chattering women, he started feeling out of place, and that made him uncomfortable. Remus worked hard to blend in, and he usually succeeded, but in this environment he couldn’t help being conspicuous. He was a tall, slightly-stooped man, with shaggy hair and battle-scars. His robes weren’t tattered and frayed as they’d once been, but they were well-worn and brown, and slightly too big for his thin frame.  
  
He wasn’t the only man in the alley, but he was certainly the youngest and wildest-looking. Glancing around, he realised he hadn’t received so many disapproving stares since he was an eyeliner-wearing teenager, holding Sirius’s hand at the back of a London bus. He was starting to wish he hadn’t listened to Luna.  
  
As he walked, his strides grew faster, and he looked around for a shop to duck into. They all seemed to be filled with antiques, floral-patterned robes, medicinal potions and elderly ladies. Finally, Remus’s eyes caught on a large, turquoise-coloured sign, The Inner Eye, above a dusty window lined with crystal balls. The shop seemed to be empty, so he hurried inside, the door creaking as he opened it.  
  
He noticed the smell first, of acrid smoke and dying flowers, as his eyes adjusted from the sunlight. It was a gloomy, musty shop, crammed with overflowing shelves and benches. There were stacks of leather-bound journals and tarot cards; rows of teapots, tea cups and candles; and piles of rusty tea-canisters. The cracked walls were papered with palmistry and astrology charts, and the only light came from a pair of lamps covered with red shawls.   
  
As he walked further inside, the uneven floor groaned under his boots, and someone stood up from a chair at the back of the shop. It was clearly a woman, but only her silhouette was visible. She was tall and bent, with a mass of wispy hair, and thin as a praying mantis. Draped in scarves and wearing a shoe-length robe, she appeared to glide, rather than walk, towards him. There was something very familiar about her.  
  
“Hello,” Remus called, with a polite smile. “I’m just browsing. Won’t be a minute.”  
  
As the woman drew closer, Remus detected the stench of cooking sherry, cheap and sickly, in the air around her. Finally, he recognised her: it was Sybill Trelawney. He glanced at the door, wanting to bolt outside, but good manners held him back.  
  
“Professor Lupin,” she said, in her whisper of a voice, as her face became visible in the dim light. “How delightful. It’s so nice to be paid a visit by one of my former colleagues.”  
  
“It’s delightful to see you too, Sybill,” said Remus, with a forced smile. “Although I must admit, I’ve been looking for Harry’s engagement gift. I’m here quite by accident.”   
  
“I doubt that very much, my dear,” she replied. “Fate moves every aspect of our lives. There _are_ no coincidences. In fact, I’ve been expecting your visit for some time. Follow me to my little room at the back, and we shall share a pot of tea.”  
  
“That sounds lovely, but I couldn’t possibly—”  
  
“The fates have informed me that you will discover a suitable gift by the end of the day, so there’s no need to rush. Come now,” she said, turning and beckoning him with one jewel-encrusted hand. “I shall read your leaves, and perhaps discover what fortune has in store for you.”  
  
  
\--—  
  
  
The shop’s backroom was stuffy, windowless, and cramped with two over-stuffed magenta armchairs. There was a small wooden table between them, spindly and round, cluttered with perfume bottles, balls of wool and some half-finished needlework.   
  
“Sit down, dear,” said Sybill, gesturing to one of the chairs.   
  
Remus sat, watching as she cleared the table and summoned a fragile pink tea-set. In a moment she was pouring the tea, humming quietly to herself.  
  
“So, you’ve left Hogwarts, I take it,” said Remus, when she handed him his cup.  
  
“Indeed,” she sniffed. “Minerva and I had some…professional differences, when it came to running the school. She insisted that…that the pompous _horse_ should continue teaching the fine art of Divination. Honestly, a _beast_ like that meddling in the affairs of fate.” She leant over to pat Remus’s hand, “No offence intended, dear; I’m aware of your…condition…but I don’t believe it’s quite the same as being half-man, half-nag.”  
  
Remus swallowed, struggled to relax, and finally nodded. He started gulping down his tea; it burned his tongue, but he hoped to leave as soon as possible.  
  
“Then Minerva tried to change my lesson plans,” Sybill continued, oblivious. “Imagine, trying to teach _me_ how to teach. _Me_. Well, I still have my pride. Last year the tarot notified me that I would leave Hogwarts and open a little shop, and here I am.”  
  
Remus swallowed the last of his tea and set the cup back on the table.  
  
“It’s been wonderful catching up with you, Sybill,” he said, “but I really must keep searching for Harry’s engagement gift. The party is in a week, and—”  
  
“I shall give you a brief reading, before you depart,” Sybill cut in. “Free of charge, of course.”  
  
Before he could protest, she’d reached down and picked up his cup. She was holding it close to her face, scrutinising it, when she suddenly dropped it.  
  
“Sybill?”  
  
She didn’t respond. The cup bounced on the thick blue carpet, then settled with its contents spilled like a line of black ants.   
  
“Sybill?” Remus asked again, staring at her.  
  
She looked as though she was having an epileptic seizure. He got to his feet and reached out to her, but he wasn’t sure how to help. Was she in danger of swallowing her tongue? Should he turn her to the side and put a pillow beneath her head? Years ago, he’d taken a Muggle First Aid course, but now it was all a blur. He pulled out his wand, intending to signal St. Mungo’s, when a deep, rasping voice filled the room: “_Listen well._”  
  
It took a few seconds for him to realise that the words had come from Sybill, who was still sitting stiff and upright as a marionette puppet, a line of drool dribbling from her slackened mouth. Her eyes were rolling in their sockets, and her hair had frizzed even higher than usual, as though tweaked by static electricity.  
  
Her mouth opened and the voice burst forth once more, like a growl of thunder: “_Two valued brothers have been lost; one roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands. Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness. He must seek the wizard who surpassed all others but could not fulfil his greatest wish. Together, they can petition the King to restore order. In three days…the wolf…will make…his choice…_”  
  
Then, without warning, Sybill slumped forward and landed in a heap of limbs and scarves on the carpet. Remus, who’d been watching in astonishment, his wand dangling loose from his fingers, rushed forward and levitated her back onto the chair. He checked her for bruises and broken bones, but she was, evidently, a resilient old bird. _She must be stronger than she looks_, he thought, _to support the weight of all that jewellery_.  
  
He was about to revive her when her eyes flickered open. At first he was relieved, but then he realised she was staring as though she didn’t know him.  
  
“Sybill? Professor Trelawney?” he asked. “How are you feeling? Are you all right?”  
  
“Ah,” she said, “the wolf.” Her voice sounded different yet again; it was measured and clipped, and much louder than her usual tone.   
  
“Sybill, lie still and rest,” he said, urgently. “I’ll signal St. Mungo’s, and—”  
  
“There’s no need for that, wolf. I’m perfectly all right.” She glanced down at herself and scowled. “That ridiculous woman…” she muttered. “What a disaster…”  
  
“Sybill?”  
  
“That’s right,” she said, giving him a piercing look. “I’m Sybill. However, I’m _not_ Sybill Trelawney.”  
  
“I’m sorry…_what_?”  
  
“Look, I think you’d better sit down. Pour yourself another cup of tea.”  
  
Remus frowned, but sank back into his armchair. He decided not to touch the tea; he was beginning to think Sybill had laced it with a confusion concoction of some kind. She didn’t reach for the tea, either; instead, she pulled a small flask from the folds of her robes, undoubtedly filled with cooking sherry, and took a hearty swig.  
  
“Pfft,” she spat, wiping her mouth. “Disgusting. She’s got no taste, none at all. Not like her great-grandmother, Cassandra; now _she_ was a high class lady.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“Listen, wolf—”  
  
“I’m only a wolf one night out of every month,” he said. “The rest of the time, call me Remus.”  
  
“Remus, then,” she said, with an impatient wave. “Listen, Remus, how do you think a twit like Sybill Trelawney produced the most important prophecy of your time?”  
  
Remus had once asked Dumbledore a similar question, and he now delivered the late Headmaster’s response: “She has a rare Gift.”  
  
“Poppycock,” said Sybill, her eyes narrowing behind her bottle-thick glasses. “I’ll tell you why: it’s all because of _me_. That pitiful fool couldn’t prophesise to save her life. You’ll probably have trouble believing this…the last one did, at any rate—”  
  
“The last _who_?”  
  
“The last one like _you_, of course. But that’s not important. Oh, I’d _die_ for a cigarette. Do you smoke, Remus?”  
  
“I quit, years ago.”  
  
She sighed and took another swig from the flask. “What a pity.”  
  
“Sybill, you’ve had a nasty shock,” Remus began, tentatively, “but I think if you just lie down and rest, you’ll start to feel better, and—”  
  
“Enough nonsense, wolf.”  
  
“It’s _Remus_.”  
  
“Have you ever read any classical works, Remus? Any Ovid? Any Virgil? What about Petronius?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, surprised. “I’m familiar with their works. In fact, I’ve re-read the _Aeneid_ several times.”  
  
“Excellent. Then I suppose you know the story of the Sibyl of Cumae?”  
  
“Of course,” he said. “She bewitched the god Apollo, and he promised to grant her countless years of youth and beauty, in exchange for her virginity. When she turned him down, he decided to give her those extra years of life, but with a terrible price; he didn’t stop her body from ageing as the years passed by. While she was young she accomplished some great deeds, but after hundreds of years she was reduced to almost nothing, and only wanted to die.” Suddenly, it all clicked into place. “Wait a moment…are you saying that _you_ are…? No, that’s not possible.”  
  
Sybill shrugged, “Isn’t it? Apollo wouldn’t let me die; not even when the years he’d promised had run out. Oh, he let _some_ of me die, but he decided my punishment wasn’t quite over. The vain, spiteful fool. He’s a poor excuse for a god, let me tell you. A poor excuse for man, too…if you know what I mean.”   
  
Remus cleared his throat. “What did he do to you, Sybill?”  
  
“He imprisoned me in the mind of a peasant woman, and I’ve been moving down the family line ever since, from girl to girl. Women are more receptive, you see. Every so often, Apollo has used me as a vessel to deliver his messages, as he did when I was alive. Very occasionally, he allows me to speak, to act, as I’m doing now, because I’m required to fulfil one of his ludicrous tasks.”  
  
“Really?” asked Remus, but he was only humouring her. Should he knock her out with a stunning spell, he wondered, or talk her into accompanying him to St. Mungo’s? He’d dealt with many mentally-addled individuals in his time, but never someone who hadn’t first suffered spell damage or a night of binge-drinking.  
  
“Clearly, you don’t believe me,” she said thoughtfully, tapping her fingertips against her chin. “I suppose there’s nothing for it, then.”  
  
Her arm darted out across the table; her bony fingers wrapping around Remus’s wrist.  
  
“Sybill, I don’t think—”  
  
He couldn’t finish. The room went suddenly, startlingly dark, as he felt the familiar tug and pressure of Apparation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to use the British spelling of “Sybill”.


	4. Chapter 4

It was too dark to see anything, but Remus could smell sawdust and Muggle cleaning products, and the nose-tickling musk of ancient paper. Sybill’s hand was still wrapped around his wrist, her rings biting into his skin. With her other hand, she took her wand from her robe and muttered, “_Lumos_.”  
  
Remus glanced around. There were shelves of neatly-stacked boxes, wooden and metal, piled higher and further than the reach of Sybill’s light. It looked like a storage facility, definitely Muggle, but Remus was still at a loss. Each box was marked in black with a letter and a three-digit number. Many were also stamped with a familiar symbol: an ornate, scarlet ‘BM’. Unfortunately, Remus couldn’t remember where he’d seen it before.  
  
“Where are we, Sybill?” he tried asking, after lighting his own wand.  
  
“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” she retorted. “Are you going to stay put?”  
  
He nodded, and she finally let go of his wrist.   
  
“I’ve come here to fetch something,” she told him, with a skewed, toothy smile. She looked like a Muggle cartoon witch; glinty-eyed and wicked, about to turn him into a toad with the flick of her wand. “Prepare to be flabbergasted.”   
  
“I can barely contain my excitement,” Remus muttered, rubbing his wrist where one of her rings had drawn blood. He wanted to escape as soon as possible, but knew he couldn’t leave Sybill alone. As much as he disliked the woman, she clearly needed medical attention.  
  
_Probably best to humour her_, he thought. _Lull her into thinking I believe her, then Apparate us both to St. Mungo’s._  
  
Sybill began searching through the boxes, lifting and opening them with broad sweeps of her wand, until she finally levitated one from the shelves.   
  
“He _told_ me it was fifth from the bottom, the twat,” she whispered to herself. “Couldn’t find his arse with both hands.”  
  
She floated the box waist-height in front of Remus, and pried off the lid with a murmured spell. Remus peered inside. It was full of carefully-wrapped objects, each tagged with a brief description. The one at the top read: _Tuscan region, c. 600-550 BC: silver-rimmed lacquered bowl. Archived 13/10/1961_, in spidery blue cursive.   
  
Remus finally realised what the ‘BM’ symbol stood for.   
  
“Ah,” he said. “We’re in the British Museum.”  
  
“The main underground storeroom, to be precise,” Sybill replied, as she unwrapped the bowl. She ran a finger around the rim, her mouth curling with contentment. “Gorgeous. I used to have one_ just_ like it.”  
  
Remus couldn’t help himself. “You’ve brought me here to find your old tea set?”  
  
“Don’t get smart with me, wolf.” Scowling, Sybill re-wrapped the bowl and placed it back in the box, then reached in again and pulled out a longer, thinner package, bound with yellowing twine. “Here we are.”  
  
She made short work of the wrapping, and in a few moments was holding what looked like a thick, leafless twig, plucked from the branch of a tree. Remus leaned closer; yes, it was definitely twig-like, but it wasn’t wooden; it was tarnished metal, gold or copper, with a dull gleam.   
  
“This,” Sybill whispered, “is all that remains of the golden bough.”  
  
“_The_ golden bough?” Remus asked, trying to sound surprised.  
  
Sybill gave a dry, unpleasant chuckle. “You think you can fool me, do you? Honestly, what do you take me for? I’m thousands of years old.”  
  
“Right, yes,” said Remus, with a solemn nod.  
  
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, here—” she shoved the twig at his wand-free hand, and he took it automatically.  
  
It was a dry, cold rasp of metal against his fingers, and then suddenly it wasn’t; suddenly it glowed and pulsed, and his hand started shaking. His skin tingled from his toes to the tips of his ears. Everything glittered with life; everything was haloed and glorious.   
  
He hadn’t felt such bliss since he’d last been stoned, sprawled skinny limbs on the carpet, his head on Sirius’s lap with hands stroking his hair, watching a candle burn down to its base. It didn’t make sense; it was like flying and falling at once; but it was real, it was happening, and Remus knew he’d been wrong.   
  
“Oh my God,” he murmured. “This…_this_ is…”  
  
Sybill smiled, but her eyes were hard. She no longer looked like a cartoon; she was older than Rome, older than Christianity, and she longed for death. “You feel it, then? The lure of the sunless lands?”  
  
“Yes…oh, yes.”  
  
“Aeneas felt it, too.”   
  
“Aeneas…?”  
  
“Oh, here,” she muttered, snatching the twig from his hands.  
  
Remus shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “The bough,” he said, dazed. “You…you’re telling the truth.”  
  
“Took you long enough.”  
  
“But it’s the _bough_. That means…will I really be…?”  
  
“Of course, you ninny. Weren’t you listening to my prophecy? _Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness_.”  
  
“The Underworld,” Remus breathed, staring at the remnants of the golden bough.   
  
It had been Aeneas’s ticket to the afterlife, used as a way past the ferryman and an entry to paradise. It was a sacred object, precious to Pluto’s Queen. To Remus, however, it represented only one thing: a means to find Sirius.  
  
“Yes, the Underworld,” Sybill replied, matter-of-factly. “Aeneas wanted to see his father and learn about the future, but I’ve got a feeling you’re only interested in the past. There’s the prophecy to take care of too, of course.”  
  
“Are you suggesting…are you saying you’re going to guide me through the Underworld, as you guided Aeneas?”  
  
“So _now_ you believe I’m the Sibyl of Cumae?” she challenged, crossing her arms.  
  
“Who else would know the bough’s location?” he countered. “There’s only one thing I can’t fathom; didn’t Aeneas leave the bough in the Underworld, at Pluto’s palace?”  
  
“Well,” said Sybill, with a wicked smile, “I saved a few twigs on the sly; thought they might come in handy. As it turned out, Apollo was well pleased with me.”  
  
“A _few_ twigs?”  
  
“The others are all gone, now. Lost, or else given to people like you. Aeneas wasn’t the last one I led to Pluto’s kingdom, but you’ll be, I hope. When Trelawney dies, I’ll finally shake off this mortal coil. At least, that’s what Apollo tells me, but who knows with him? He’ll probably stick me in the body of a rat. That foul swine of a—”  
  
“Sybill,” Remus cut in, “do you have any idea what the prophecy means? Who are the _two valued brothers_? Who is _the wizard who surpassed all others_?”  
  
“If I knew what it meant, I would have told you already,” she snapped. “I’m only the messenger. It’s up to you to follow the instructions and see where they take you.”   
  
With her thin, wrinkled lips curved into a frown, she tucked the twig into the side-pocket of her robe, then closed the box and levitated it back into place.  
  
“Well, I’ll be off,” she said, in a brusque voice. “You’ve got three days to decide whether you want to come along.”  
  
“Should I give you my address?” Remus asked, but she’d already Apparated.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Remus Apparated straight to his rented cottage, the engagement gift completely forgotten. For the first hour or so, he paced circles on his living room rug, wanting to talk to himself but not sure what to say.   
  
His circles grew wider, and soon he found himself near the liquor cabinet. He took out a bottle of Ogden’s Finest, opened it, and in another hour was slumped on his favourite plush armchair, wondering whether he’d hallucinated the whole afternoon. Perhaps his parting of ways with Tonks had done more damage than he’d realised.  
  
There was no one to talk to; no one to tell him he was right or wrong, or to give him any advice. In the past, he would have headed straight for Dumbledore’s office. He imagined, though, that if this were still possible, even the Headmaster would think he’d finally lost the plot. Sybill Trelawney offering to guide him into the Underworld, to fulfil a prophecy and meet his dead lover? It simply wasn’t possible.  
  
Remus spent the first night this way, sleepless and full of doubt, drinking Firewhiskey from the bottle until he was too exhausted to lift it.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Remus slept through most of the first day. When he woke, he fixed himself a hang-over draft, purple and bubbling, and decided there was no harm in packing. Sybill probably wouldn’t turn up at his door in two days, and probably wasn’t going to lead him to Sirius, but she might. It was best to prepare, just in case.  
  
During Sirius’s twelve years in Azkaban, Remus had been forced to learn many survival skills. Amongst other things, he could identify edible plants, build a watertight canoe, light a fire without a wand or matches, haggle a half-price discount, play a mean game of poker, cast wordless protection wards and warming charms, and chain his werewolf form to everything from tree roots to motel radiators.   
  
Most importantly, he’d learned how to pack for long journeys. In the eighties, he’d travelled across the globe, from the Arctic Circle to the tip of South America, to the deserts of Australia and the snow-capped mountains of Japan. Even when he’d returned to England, he’d spent months sleeping in hostels and bus stations, unable to find steady work because of his condition.   
  
He owned a wizard’s backpack, of course, which allowed him liberties Muggle trekkers could only dream of. He’d bought it in 1981, with the last of his savings; second-hand, but there’d been nothing wrong with it except for its faded, out-dated grey material. There was room for two years’ worth of rations, three changes of clothes, a razor, a self-toothpasting toothbrush, a clock-compass, a wand-repair kit, and even a couple of books.  
  
The pack was stored in miniaturised form at the back of his wardrobe, still in good condition. He brought it on field excursions, often week-long and arduous, and it had never let him down. Also, he had a regular supplier of camping rations, an elderly witch running a tiny shop in Nottingham. She was more than happy to transfer two years’ worth into the pack, despite the short notice. Remus was not so happy to part with three hundred galleons, but told himself it was small price to pay for peace of mind.  
  
As for the books, he packed the _Aeneid _and _Metamorphoses._ There were many others he wanted to take, but even the slimmest volume couldn’t fit.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
On the third night, Remus sat on the end of his bed and talked to Sirius. Sirius wasn’t actually there, but that was beside the point.   
  
Sirius was slouched against the bedroom’s floral-papered wall, dressed in his Hogwarts school uniform. His Gryffindor tie was looped around his head, pirate-bandana style, as he’d worn it when he was fourteen.   
  
“You shouldn’t go, Moony,” he said, in an adolescent mumble.  
  
Remus raised his eyebrows. “Why ever not?”  
  
“Well, y’know, there’s Harry, and Tonks, and your job,” said Sirius, counting them off on his fingers.  
  
“That’s true,” Remus replied, with a thoughtful frown. “It’s also very considerate of you. I don’t remember you being so selfless when you were alive.”  
  
Sirius shrugged and started picking at his bitten fingernails. “Well, you’ve always been a considerate sort of bloke. A bit _too_ considerate, if you ask me. Wouldn’t it be a touch out of character for you to just, y’know, sod off to the Underworld to say hello to me?”  
  
“Padfoot, let me explain something to you,” said Remus, as a familiar crease formed between his eyes. “I’m not particularly considerate. You just think I am, because you’re the most arrogant berk who ever walked the earth.”  
  
“Shut it, Moony.”  
  
“All I’m saying is that, in comparison to you, King Henry VIII would seem a kind and selfless individual.”  
  
“Fuck off, I’m not that bad,” Sirius insisted, glowering at Remus. “And look, you know I’m right. You’re just trying to piss me off, make me stop talking about it, but I won’t. I don’t like the idea of you not doing the right thing.”  
  
Remus decided another tactic was necessary. “Look, Padfoot, we can argue until we’re blue in the face, but it’s up to me and I’ve made up my mind.”  
  
Sirius rolled his eyes and tugged on his bandana. “Explain to me, then, why a bloody suicide mission is the best thing to do.”  
  
“All right,” said Remus, rubbing a hand across his face and through his hair. “I’ll start at the very beginning, shall I?”  
  
“Go on, then,” said Sirius, with a huff, his arms folded. “This had better be good.”  
  
Remus took a deep breath. “I love you,” he said.  
  
Sirius waited, and waited, and started tapping his foot impatiently, but Remus didn’t say another word. A fly buzzed around the room, bumping into walls and echoing in the light fixture, then diving under the curtains to collide against the glass. Remus kept silent.   
  
“Is that it?” Sirius asked, finally, his eyes narrowed with outrage.  
  
“That’s all,” Remus replied. “Were you expecting something else?”  
  
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and that’s saying something. Think of all the time I spent with Wormtail.”  
  
Remus rubbed his eyes. “Go away, Sirius. I’m too tired for this.”   
  
Of course, Sirius was gone.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
The next morning, Remus sent Harry a letter, and watched from the kitchen window as his owl, tiny and brown, disappeared into the summer sky.   
  
  
_Dear Harry,_  
  
I’m about to embark on a journey. If I tried to explain it to you, you would think I was mad. All I can tell you is that I’m looking for our fallen star, but I don’t intend to join him. I know it’s selfish of me, but I must go and I won’t apologise for it. I’ve lost too much to miss this opportunity.  
  
All of my possessions are yours to do with as you wish, including my owl. I’ve paid this month’s rent and informed the university of my retirement. However, I haven’t sent a letter to Tonks. The news would only upset her. She’ll return from Romania in February, so if I’m not back by then, you’ll need to let her know. I’m sorry for putting you in this position, but I can’t see a way around it.   
  
I feel terrible about missing your engagement party and perhaps even your wedding. I wish this opportunity had come at a better time, but it can’t be helped. You should know, however, that although I’ve never been a parent to you, or even a godfather, I do love you. I met you on the day you were born, and I’ve loved you ever since.  
  
Take care,  
  
Remus  
  
  
He spent the next few hours sitting at the kitchen table, drinking Orange Pekoe tea and reading one of the books that hadn’t fit in his pack; _The Little Prince_, a favourite since childhood. He’d just finished it, and was standing to put it back on the shelf, when someone knocked at the door: three sharp raps.   
  
Grabbing his pack, he dropped the book spine-down on the table. Its dog-eared pages lay open at the part that had been read most often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “‘People have forgotten this truth,’ said the fox. ‘But you must not forget. You become responsible, for ever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose.’  
‘I am responsible for my rose…’ the little prince repeated, so as to remember.”
> 
> —Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, _The Little Prince_ (Penguin: London, 1995), p. 72


	5. Chapter 5

Remus opened the door to find Sybill jewellery-free, dressed in khaki trousers, hiking boots and a loose, chequered shirt. She held a cigarette in one hand, and was fixing her tightly wound hair with the other. At her feet lay a pile of clear-plastic grocery bags, filled with an assortment of fruit and vegetables: everything from artichokes to zucchini.  
  
“…Sybill?”   
  
“Were you expecting someone else?” she asked, taking a long drag and blowing a perfect smoke ring.   
  
“Er…well, no. It’s just…” _If only Minerva McGonagall could see you now_, he wanted to say, but she wouldn’t have understood. “It isn’t important.”   
  
With a tight-lipped, impatient frown, Sybill dropped her cigarette and crushed it into the cottage’s gravel pathway. “Are you coming with me then, wolf?”   
  
“Yes,” he replied, without hesitation. “From the moment I touched the bough, I knew I’d do anything to follow you through the Underworld. There’s someone I need to visit, you see, to make sure he’s all right, and—”   
  
“Look, I’m not here to chat,” Sybill cut in. “And I’m not going to guide you through the Underworld; you can forget about that.” Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Sybill continued. “Yes, yes, I guided Aeneas. But in those times, the future of your absurd civilisation was at stake. This is only a minor prophecy. I’ll take you to the gates, but you’ll be travelling alone from there.”   
  
Remus reflected on this for a moment. On the one hand, an experienced guide would be welcome; on the other, Remus wasn’t sure he could endure much more of Sybill’s company. He decided not to argue with her, as he’d already accepted his low chance of survival; and, perhaps most importantly, he didn’t want to introduce her to Sirius.   
  
Sybill was glaring at him, expecting a fight, but he just shrugged and pulled on his backpack. It was a huge burden, almost half his size, but it only weighed as much as a woollen jumper.   
  
“I’m ready,” he said, as the pack fastened automatically. “Where are we off to?”   
  
“You’ll see when we arrive,” she replied.   
  
“Must you always be so mysterious?”   
  
“It isn’t mystery,” she snapped. “I just can’t be bothered explaining.” She bent down, scooped up the full-to-bursting plastic bags, and handed a few to Remus, “Here.”   
  
He opened one and looked inside. As well as the fresh produce, there was a packet of gluten-free chocolate biscuits, a bottle of Italian mineral water, and a bag of ‘oven-roasted’ pistachio nuts.   
  
“Thank you, Sybill, but my pack is full of supplies,” he told her, trying not to sound frustrated. “Besides, even charmed, this fruit wouldn’t last more than a few months.”   
  
“Oh, this isn’t for you,” she sniffed. “Honestly, do you think I’d buy these chocolate-coated macadamia nuts—” she pulled out a box, dangling it before his eyes “—for just anyone?”   
  
“I suppose there’s no point asking—”   
  
“You’ll see when we arrive.”   
  
With that, she transferred all of her bags to one arm, then grabbed his wrist with her free hand. Remus took one last look at his rented front garden, with its ragged, weedy lawn and gnarled rosebushes, before Sybill’s Apparation swept him away.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“We’re still in England, then?” asked Remus.  
  
Sybill smirked at him, shaking a fresh cigarette from her pack. “No, we’re in Timbuktu. It looks amazingly like the English countryside, doesn’t it?”   
  
They were standing in a dandelion-infested meadow, shaded by a copse of oaks and beeches. Nearby was an abandoned apple orchard, with trees drooping under the weight of bird-pecked fruit, making the air stink of fermenting apples and hum with bees. Ordinary green fields rolled to the horizon in every direction, except one; to the west was a hill, tall and bare, that would block the sun as it set. At first glance, it looked smooth and ovoid as an egg, but closer inspection revealed deep, even ridges in its surface. They resembled the steps of a South American pyramid, but they hadn’t been built from the rock; they’d been carved, with painstaking precision, by the Celts.   
  
At the peak of the hill stood a rectangular stone tower, obviously constructed more recently. It stuck out like a lone needle in a pincushion: Christianity’s attempt to plant ownership over ancient, deep-rooted beliefs, as futile and out-of-place as America’s flag on the moon.   
  
“The Glastonbury Tor,” said Remus. He’d only seen it in photographs, but it was unmistakeable. “My family made plans to holiday here, when I was six.”   
  
“You went to the seaside instead?”   
  
Remus turned to her, with a faint smile. “I was bitten by a wolf.”   
  
He wasn’t expecting comfort, but he was taken aback by her total lack of expression. It was as though he hadn’t spoken; she didn’t seem to care at all, one way or the other. He didn’t mind, exactly; he’d just been interested in seeing how she felt. Sybill was human in many ways, but Remus wasn’t sure to what extent. Did she experience anything but anger and frustration? Was she truly nothing but Apollo’s reluctant instrument?   
  
“So, what do you know about the Tor?” she asked.   
  
Remus shrugged. “I’ve read several research papers about it; no major works, but enough to understand that it represents many things, to many different traditions. It was once surrounded by water and marshlands, and known as the Isle of Avalon in the time of Merlin. However, the Celts knew it first as the entrance to their afterlife, Annwn, and later as the hollow hill, the doorway to the realm of faerie. In reality, it doesn’t possess any magical properties; it was analysed by a team of Ministry of Magic researchers in the eighteenth century, who uncovered nothing except a deserted goblin nest.”   
  
Sybill snorted and shook her head. “Those closed-minded fools.”  
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
“You heard me. Isn’t anyone capable of lateral reasoning these days? No one can think for themselves anymore.” She took a jerky, irritated puff from her cigarette. “Listen, there are many ways to climb the Tor, but there’s only one way to climb _through_ it.”   
  
Remus frowned, puzzled. “I’m sorry; I’m not following you.”   
  
“The thing to remember is, the Tor is both a hill _and_ a valley,” Sybill explained, in a too-patient voice. “The Tor is both inward and outward. That’s what everyone’s forgotten. Well, except me. I can lead you through the Tor valley, to the banks of the River Styx: the boundary between two worlds.”   
  
At that, Sybill turned towards the Tor and began striding across the meadow, stooped by the weight of her rattling grocery bags.   
  
Remus hurried after her. “Are you sure this is the quickest way?”   
  
“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked, sharp and brisk, without sparing him a glance.   
  
“Sirius…my friend, he fell through a veiled archway in the Department of Mysteries. I assume it leads directly to the Underworld.”   
  
“No one can pass through the veil and remain alive; not even with the bough,” said Sybill. “There are seven entrances to the Underworld, scattered around higgledy-piggledy, and the veil isn’t one of them. It’s just a short-cut, or an open window; a passage straight to the final judgement.”   
  
Remus followed her across the grass, his eyes on the Tor, but all he could see was Sirius falling backwards through the archway; that split-second, that knowledge of loss.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Sybill didn’t speak as they walked, remaining silent even when they reached the cool, dark shadow of the Tor. A dirt path wound to the right, but Sybill ignored it; she strode straight up the slope, taking the most difficult route. Remus followed, at first easily mimicking her hurried pace, but soon lagging behind, panting with a pounding heart, an ache in his under-exercised legs. He didn’t complain; after years of bone-cracking, skin-tearing transformations, he had a high threshold for pain.  
  
Half an hour passed. Remus kept expecting to reach the peak, but it still seemed several yards ahead of him, not quite within reach. He tried to think about the prophecy, to untangle its meaning, but he was too exhausted. Instead, he focused on Sybill, urging himself to keep up. Her tall, frail body was drooped like a dying dandelion, her hair escaping from its bun in wisps; but her legs continued their brisk steps.   
  
After an hour, sweat had beaded along Remus’s hairline, pooling above his lips and chin. Every so often, he took gulps of water from his wand, but nothing was enough to quench his thirst. Although they were walking in shade, he could somehow feel the sun on his face and the back of his neck, and even the tips of his ears. Soon, there was nothing but sweet-scented grass and Sybill, and blinding golden light from the west.   
  
A few minutes later, Remus was stumbling down a rocky path choked with thistles and dark-leafed weeds. Though their ascent had never finished, they were now descending into a wide, wooded valley. Sybill was almost sliding down the slope, moving sideways with delicate, certain strides. The sunlight had faded, leaving the sky a pale, cloudless pinkish-yellow, the colour of under-ripe peaches.   
  
“Quickly, now,” Sybill called. “It’ll be easier if there’s some light to see by.”   
  
Remus slipped and stumbled several times, grazing the palms of his hands as he steadied himself. He was distracted by the lack of birdsong and insect-buzzing, and by a cloud of black smoke that poured up from the trees, further along the edge of the valley.   
  
In the _Aeneid_, he recalled, the River Styx flowed far beneath the ground; the only way to reach it was through a gloomy, smog-spouting cavern. He’d been hoping the Tor entrance was different, but as they drew closer to the foul-smelling smoke, he realised it was definitely issuing from beneath the earth; there wasn’t any fire.   
  
“Come on, come on,” urged Sybill, still several paces ahead.   
  
They’d almost reached the floor of the valley, and were surrounded by wind-stunted trees at the edge of the wood. Already, the sky had turned pale mauve, bruised with indigo and blue, and a dozen stars had appeared. Remus’s robes kept entangling in blackberry brambles, while Sybill’s trousers gave her an advantage.   
  
By the time the entrance came into view, Remus was panting, his pulse thudding through his head. Sweat itched behind his ears and across his back, and the edge of his robe was ragged. He swayed on his feet, staring at the cavern; midnight-dark, surrounded by sharp grey rocks. It gaped like the mouth of a shark.   
  
_Maybe I _was_ mad to consider this_, he thought. _What kind of man is happy to walk off the edge of the earth? _  
  
In front of him, Sybill emptied her grocery bags onto the ground, arranging their contents in a disordered pile. She beckoned him over, then scowled when he hesitated.   
  
“What, are you going to slink away with your tail between your legs?” she taunted.   
  
In answer, he walked over and held out his bags.   
  
“Good,” she said, grabbing them. After scattering their contents onto the pile, she pulled out her wand. “_Vinomenti_,” she cried, and a jet of red wine spurted from the tip, soaking over the food.   
  
“Oh,” said Remus, understanding. “Don’t we need oxen, or at least a black lamb or two?”   
  
“I’ll have you know that the King and Queen of the Underworld are happily vegetarian, and have been for a few hundred years. They no longer accept sacrificial animals; not even fish.”   
  
“_Vegetarian_?”   
  
“Oh yes,” said Sybill, calmly setting the pile alight with a wordless spell. “The smell of burning flesh grows tiresome, you know. And the bloodstains are terribly difficult to wash out. Quite disgusting.”   
  
“What about the smell of burning plastic?” Remus muttered, as he shielded his nose with a handkerchief.   
  
“Shush,” said Sybill; then, in a louder tone, declared, “We dedicate this sacrifice to Pluto and Proserpine, glorious rulers of the sunless lands; to the Furies, guardians of Tartarus; to the Earth, mother of us all; and to Hecate, the dark half of the moon, the darkness in every human soul.”   
  
“Hear, hear,” added Remus, who’d never been particularly religious.   
  
The smoke was sickeningly bittersweet, clotting in his throat and lungs. Between the smog from the cavern and the spitting fire, the cool evening air was the only relief. He had to turn away to cough, trying to hold down the contents of his stomach.   
  
“It’s done,” said Sybill, and doused the fire with a flow of wand-water. “Coming?”   
  
Once again, she walked away before he could respond. His eyes flickered to the cavern: the yawning, smoke-spewing blackness in the valley wall.   
  
“You don’t have to, Moony,” said Sirius, from beside him. “I mean, why bother?”   
  
“The prophecy,” Remus replied, eyes still fixed on the cavern.   
  
“We both know that’s not why you’re doing this.”   
  
“To see you, then,” Remus admitted. “That’s what I’ve wanted most, all these years without you. Just to see you. To know you still exist.”   
  
He waited for a reply, and when none came, he caught up with Sybill. Without a glance back at the summer night, he followed her into the sunless lands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge about the Glastonbury Tor comes from:  
\- McMillan, Atasha, _Magical Mystery Tor: Legends, Folklore and strange experiences around Glastonbury Tor_, http://www.glastonburytor.org.uk/mysterytor.html  
\- The National Trust Glastonbury Tor Conservation Statement, February 1999:  
http://www.glastonburytor.org.uk/conservation.html  
\- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annwn


	6. Chapter 6

As they walked further in the cavern, the choking smoke dissipated, and the daylight disappeared. Remus turned to see the last glint of sunlight, but there was nothing. It was as though he’d suddenly gone blind. He reached out for anything, stalagmites or damp-slick walls, but there was only stone beneath his feet, and stale, frozen air around him.   
  
“Do you know what to expect?” Sybill whispered, close to him in the darkness.   
  
“Not really. Isn’t there another land before the Underworld? A kind of border town?”  
  
“That’s right. Ruled by the King of Dreams. He’s not a pleasant fellow.”  
  
“But there’s more, isn’t there?” Remus asked. “In the _Aeneid_, I mean. Nightmare monsters? Anxiety? Something about diseases and guilty joys?”  
  
“Something like that.”   
  
Remus took out his wand, holding it before him like a sword. “_Lumos_.” The light came, but nothing was illuminated; it shone like a phosphorescent jellyfish in the ocean depths, a lonely yellow globe.  
  
“Here,” said Sybill, “you should take my ha—”  
  
But Remus wasn’t listening. “What’s that?” he whispered, pointing with his wand.  
  
A rectangular light had appeared in front of them. Remus couldn’t tell if it was close or far away, but it was growing larger. It reminded him of a blank television screen.  
  
“Take my hand,” hissed Sybill. “Quickly.”  
  
Remus reached out, but he couldn’t find her. The screen of light was getting larger, spreading out, like a strange electric dawn.   
  
“Sybill!” he called, turning and trying to find her with grasping hands, his arms outstretched.   
  
She didn’t reply.   
  
“Bugger,” he muttered, as the light engulfed him.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
He was standing in the changing room section of a Hogwarts bathroom, listening to the _drip-drip-drop_ of a loose showerhead.   
  
The room was empty, but recently-abandoned Quidditch gear was scattered over the benches: boys’ tunics, bandages and a couple of discarded school brooms. There were towels, red-and-gold and crumpled, and a pair of grubby shoes. Under the smells of soap and shower-steam hung the sour, heady scent of adolescent sweat.   
  
Remus couldn’t remember why he was here. He had a feeling he’d been looking for Sirius, to ask him something important. Was Sirius still in the showers, maybe?   
  
As Remus walked past a steamed mirror, he glanced at his blurry reflection. A pale fourteen-year-old, with large brown eyes in a freckled, narrow face. He scowled at his tufty hair, his too-big nose and too-small ears. Then he perked up, because someone had turned on one of the showers. It was definitely Sirius, whistling a flat version of ‘Suffragette City’ and probably dancing as he washed.  
  
“Sirius?” Remus called, but the shower-spray and the whistling must have been too loud, because Sirius didn’t reply.   
  
Remus knew he shouldn’t go in, but he needed to talk to Sirius about something. What was it, though? Something about a prank gone wrong? The combined smells of boys’ sweat and clean skin made his head feel heavy and his stomach ache. When he thought of Sirius in the shower, naked and wet, he swayed on his feet and licked his lips. He couldn’t think clearly, and in the end, his reason didn’t really matter. He walked into the showers, and as he walked, he felt as if he’d done it a hundred times before.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Inside the shower room was Remus’s backyard.   
  
It was a summer night, and he was climbing his favourite tree.   
  
At the top of the tree, Remus looked for the Man in the Moon, but couldn’t see him.  
  
He started climbing back down and heard footsteps.   
  
They were very quiet footsteps.  
  
“Mummy?” he called, almost at the ground.  
  
And then his leg, it hurt, it hurt it hurt it _hurt_, and he was screaming and scrabbling back up the tree.  
  
More footsteps and shouting and a bang from Daddy’s wand.   
  
There was a yelp and a rustle of the bushes.  
  
Then cool grass on Remus’s face and blood, trickling, on his leg.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Remus’s legs hurt. He’d been running for miles and still the black dog wouldn’t slow down. It leapt ahead of him, sometimes glancing back and barking, its tale waggling with excitement.   
  
They were running through the Forbidden Forest at night, their feet crunching dry leaves and pine needles. Remus’s face was scratched with branches, his hair tangled with twigs and spider webs. The moon was bright enough for him to see, but there were still enough shadows to hide creatures with gleaming eyes, crouched and curled beside gnarled trees and prickly shrubs.   
  
Remus wasn’t a man or a wolf in the moonlight; he was both, he was himself, and he followed the dog because he needed to, towards the heart of the forest. Soon, he knew, they would reach their destination. Maybe when the sun began to rise, their journey would end.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
It was still night. Remus sat in his kitchen, staring at Tonks’ second-favourite mug, occasionally sipping from a bottle of Firewhiskey.   
  
Someone was pounding at the living room window; Remus thought it might be Sirius, but he was too tired to get up and see.  
  
Some words were scratched into the table in front of him:  
  
_Two valued brothers have been lost; one roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands. Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness. He must seek the wizard who surpassed all others but could not fulfil his greatest wish. Together, they can petition the King to restore order._  
  
Was it a prophecy? It looked like one.  
  
“Remus,” said a voice beside him.   
  
He turned to find an elderly woman sitting at his table. He didn’t recognise her, but she looked a bit like Sybill Trelawney.  
  
“I’m sorry, but what are you doing in my kitchen?” he asked.  
  
She grabbed his hand, and tugged.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
They were walking up, up, up a hill. Beside them, the full moon was rising and setting, rising and setting, in a flashing rhythm. It was hard to walk through the rustling willow branches hanging across their path, with leaves grey-black in the moonlight. Remus remembered the Whomping Willow smelling of musky catkin flowers and fresh leaves, but this tree stank of wolf-blood and sweat.  
  
“Almost there,” Sybill panted.   
  
“Almost where?”  
  
“The river,” she said. “The Styx. Just hold on a moment longer, and…”  
  
They reached the top of the hill.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
They were standing on a beach, their hands still clasped. It was a broad beach of grey sand, sheltered by cliffs and leading down to a wide river. The sky was mauve-twilight, but without the moon or any stars. At the horizon, where sky blended into water, Remus could make out a black line of land.  
  
Far down the beach, in both directions, were crowds of hazy silhouettes. They could have been shadows cast by outcrops from the cliffs, but when Remus squinted they looked almost human, like grey cellophane cut-outs of the living. Their identity was confirmed by the hollow sighing swell of their voices: more mournful than the autumn wind that had moaned over the rooftops, when Remus had listened as a shivering, bedridden child.  
  
“What…who are they?” he asked, struck with horror. “Are they the ones who can’t make it across?”  
  
“Actually, they _can_ make it,” Sybill replied, wry and cold. “But they’re convinced they can’t. Some weren’t buried in proper religious ceremonies or what have you, and believe they’re barred from heaven. Others refuse to die, stubbornly hoping to make it back to their lives. Honestly, I can’t stand it. They should all be happily deceased, but they stay here instead, prowling and groaning, waiting for someone to tell them they’re free to do as they please. It’s not going to happen.”  
  
Remus swallowed. He didn’t want to look, but couldn’t take his eyes from the hoard of stranded souls. _Surely Sirius wouldn’t have been so stupid, _he thought. _Surely he knew he deserved paradise. He wouldn’t have lingered here._  
  
“What about my friend?” he asked, just in case. “Could he—?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Sybill told him, impatient as ever. “As I said, the veil leads straight into the afterlife. Your friend didn’t even need to cross the river.”  
  
“Thank Merlin,” said Remus, with a faint smile of relief. “And thank you, too,” he added politely, turning to Sybill. “For finding me in my dreams, that is.”  
  
“I’m only doing my job,” she replied. “Besides, it wasn’t difficult. I haven’t dreamed for thousands of years; well, not my own dreams, anyhow. I’ve had to put up with that dreadful woman’s dreams for more years than I can count. Always some tawdry romantic fantasy. Usually about that sallow young man…you know, the one with greasy hair…”  
  
Remus swallowed.  
  
“Honestly,” Sybill continued, “she’s always dressing him up in breeches and lacy shirts, and making him spout ridiculous poetry. She wants to _marry_ him. The woman has no class. Now, Cassandra Trelawney—_there_ was a great lady.”  
  
“I’m sure she was very nice,” said Remus, smiling. “But do you mind if we continue? It’s just that I’m in a bit of a hurry.”  
  
“Maybe I should pop into the Underworld, after all,” Sybill mused, as they made their way across the beach. “I wouldn’t mind a chat with Cassandra.”  
  
Remus thought it wise not to encourage her, or even to discourage her, so he held his tongue and studied the sand in great detail. It wasn’t sand, really; it shifted, sometimes looking more like a film of oil, sometimes more like silk.   
  
“Oh look,” said Sybill, suddenly. “Here he is.”  
  
Remus glanced up. There was a small motorboat on the water, rapidly moving closer.  
  
“Isn’t it supposed to be a rowboat?”  
  
“Oh, it _is_,” Sybill assured him. “Sometimes.”  
  
They were almost at the water now, but it wasn’t lapping at their feet. There were no waves; it was smooth and dark as bottle-glass, flowing slowly in one direction like a flood of molasses.  
  
“This is exactly how I’ve always pictured it,” said Remus, gazing at the rim of land on the horizon. “Apart from the motorboat, of course.”  
  
“Well, that’s not surprising,” said Sybill. “Everything you’ll see from here to Elysia will be exactly how you’ve always pictured it. Even if you didn’t realise, before, that you pictured it that way.”  
  
“What happens in Elysia?”  
  
“Everything there is moulded by its inhabitants, so it’s _their_ reality, not yours.”  
  
“Ah. I thought it was all lush green fields, and shady woodlands, and streams.”  
  
“That’s how Aeneas saw it, because that’s how his father and others wanted it.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Remus watched the boat, now only tens of yards away. He’d expected the roar of a motor, but it was silent. The driver was an old, plump man, wearing a yellow life-vest over black Muggle clothes. His long hair was wild and grey, swirling behind him, and he seemed to be smoking a pipe with one hand as he steered with the other.  
  
“I was expecting a corpse-like man in a black cloak,” said Remus, puzzled.  
  
“Oh, don’t mind Charon. He never does what you thought you were expecting.” She raised her voice, “Hellooo! Charon!”  
  
“Hello, Sybill,” he called from the boat. “Who’ve you brought with you today?”  
  
“This one’s a werewolf,” she replied, as Charon brought the boat to a stop in front of them. “Not terribly exciting company, though.”  
  
Charon was, indeed, smoking a pipe. He sized Remus up. “He does look a bit peaky,” he muttered; then, in a heartier tone, asked, “Are you sure you’re up for a trek through the sunless lands, m’boy?”  
  
Remus was about to protest being treated like a child, but as he opened his mouth, he realised he was still an infant to Charon and Sybill, barely out of the womb.   
  
“I’ll be fine, thanks.”  
  
“That’s the spirit!”  
  
Remus turned to Sybill. “Well, it’s been—”  
  
“Please, don’t thank me again,” she sniffed. “And don’t act as though this is the last time we’ll meet. I’ll come to visit when we’re both dead. Perhaps I’ll bring Cassandra—she’ll teach you a thing or two.”  
  
“That sounds…lovely,” said Remus, trying desperately not to grimace. “I suppose I’ll see you—see you when I’m dead, then.”  
  
After giving Sybill an awkward pat on the arm, he hoisted his robes to his knees, waded ankle-deep into the icy water, and steadied himself on the hull as he climbed in.  
  
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Charon exclaimed, when Remus was settled on the boat’s green, chipped-plastic seat.   
  
“Of course!” Sybill replied. “The bough.” She reached into the deep right pocket of her khaki pants and pulled out the golden twig, waving it around like a sparkler. Though it was small, it lit up an area of several feet, shining so brightly that Remus shielded his eyes.  
  
“Ooh, ah,” Charon said, with a chuckle. “Her Ladyship will be mighty pleased, as always. All right, hand it over to the young fellow, for he won’t get far without it.”  
  
Remus passed over his handkerchief, and Sybill wrapped and tied it around the twig before handing it back. He tied another handkerchief (his spare) around it, and tucked it into the deepest pocket of his robes.  
  
“We’ll be off, then,” said Charon. “See you later, Sybill.” He winked at her.  
  
“You old flirt,” she laughed, shockingly girlish for a moment. “Next time you see me, you’ll be rowing me over.”  
  
“A likely story,” Charon laughed. “Still, hope it works out for you. And say hello to Apollo, the old rapscallion. Give him my best.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
Charon pulled the motor cord, and they were off. Sybill stood on the shore, watching but not waving, as they zoomed across the River Styx.   
  
Remus would have waved, but he was queasy, his knees hugged to his chest. He’d never been on a motorboat before, though he’d seen them all over the world, churning the water of normally pristine Muggle beaches.   
  
Somehow, he realised, his distaste for motorboats had connected them with his ideas of death and hell. It was hard to believe, though, that the boat and its driver were projections of his imagination, or his “reality”, as Sybill had called it. He wondered what the rest of the Underworld would look like, if she’d been telling the truth. What about the three-headed dog, Cerberus, at the gates? Would his mind turn it into the monstrous bulldog that had lived across the street from him, and chased him when he was nine years old?  
  
“A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Wolf,” said Charon, with a grizzled grin. “And believe me, I’ve got a lot of pennies. The dead have paid me their coins for centuries.”  
  
“I’ve always wondered what you do with those coins. I mean, do you ever take a break from ferrying? Why else would you need the money?”  
  
“I’ll show you what I do,” Charon offered. Steering one-handed, he awkwardly pulled a coin from the pocket of his life-vest. He spat on it, rubbed both sides against his cheek, and then flicked it out across the black water. It skipped with barely a ripple, bouncing over and over until it was out of sight.  
  
“Amazing,” Remus breathed. “I suppose you’ve been practicing for millennia?”  
  
“Oh, only a couple of hundred years. Before that, I enjoyed hearing them plop down into the water. And before that, I taught myself magic tricks. I like to make the kiddies laugh, as they’ve usually had a rough time of it.”  
  
“I could never skip stones,” Remus admitted. “But my friends—well, Sirius and James—they were brilliant at it.”  
  
He remembered the lake in late spring, with crushed-clover and buttercups on the banks, and the water reflecting nearby trees and the blue, cloud-streaked sky. Sometimes the giant squid would rise to the surface, or sometimes just one grey, suckered tentacle would whip around like a periscope.   
  
In the heat of the day, James, Sirius and Peter would roll their trousers up to their thighs, or dispense with trousers entirely, and wade in. Remus’s scar, low on his calf, had kept him from this when people could see, so he’d sat in the shade and read, sneaking glances at their legs (though he and Sirius had snuck out one night of a new moon and bathed naked in the starlight and brought each other off under one of the sheltering oak trees).  
  
Remus hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes. He opened them to find that the motorboat was no longer crossing the Styx, but rather the Hogwarts lake. It was a bright spring day, but there was no one around. The castle, outlined against the blue sky, was silent and still as a Muggle postcard.   
  
Frozen by awe and astonishment, Remus could only stare. Charon, too, kept silent.   
  
Once, Remus thought he saw a black-haired boy dart behind a tree; another time, he heard, or thought he heard, someone hiss, “Moony!”, from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He wanted to call back, to leave the boat, but Charon leaned forward and placed a warm, calloused hand on his shoulder.  
  
“What is this place?” Remus asked, finally.  
  
“This is the beginning of your journey into death. This is what it means when people say they saw their life flash before their eyes. Not really their life, of course. Flashes of the clearest images in their brains, but other things, too. Things they can’t remember when they come back from death, but will remember when they finally pass on.”  
  
The motorboat kept chugging, and Charon steered it around a bend.  
  
“Wait a moment,” said Remus. “There was never a bend in the Hogwarts lake.”  
  
But by then they were in a different place. It was hot and damp; immediately, Remus’s face beaded with sweat. The river was gushing through a thick forest of trees he didn’t recognise. They looked like palms and cycads, but they were sturdier and greener, with sharper leaves and huge brown cones. They smelt alien, too, and the sky above was too bright; it was a sickly, yellowish blue.  
  
“This is before,” said Charon.  
  
In the distance something roared, louder than an elephant and fiercer than a lion. The forest shook with what at first seemed like an earthquake, but was too regular: a pattern of thumps that Remus realised were the footfalls of gigantic creatures.  
  
“You can’t possibly mean…” he trailed off. “I mean, when you say _before_, do you mean, _before humanity_?”  
  
Charon didn’t answer, but a jewelled dragonfly, larger than Remus’s head, buzzed past.  
  
Remus watched it, entranced, as they rounded another bend.  
  
“This is after,” said Charon.   
  
At first, there was nothing but clouds of dark ash, sifted by a bitter wind. Then, in the shrouded sunlight, the skeletons of trees appeared, and the foundations of a burnt house, close to the riverbank. There was no sign of life: no birds or insects, or even dead things lying in the ash and snow. The only movement was the ash; then one of the trees as it swayed and came down, in the jarring crash of long-dead, splintering wood.  
  
It was nuclear winter. The world would turn, empty and clouded, thousands of times before it could start again. Human beings were gone forever.  
  
“There’s no way to prevent this, is there?” Remus asked. He was shivering, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, but he only grew colder.  
  
“None,” said Charon. “Everything comes to an end, sooner or later. Humanity’s no different from all the other thinking species in the universe. They believe they’re immortal or chosen, but pretty soon this is what’s left, and they end up on my boat.”  
  
Remus found he couldn’t look anymore. “Please, take me out of this place,” he begged, palms pressed to his eyes. “I can’t stand it. Round another bend.”  
  
“Almost there,” Charon grunted reassuringly. “You can open your eyes, now.”  
  
Remus did. They were drifting down the Thames, on a London day like any other. Grey skies and congested traffic had never looked so welcome. People bustled along the streets beside the river, many dressed in business suits, probably on their lunch hour. The river smelt of refuse and rubbish and rats, but at least it smelt alive.  
  
“So this is _during_,” said Remus, and Charon nodded.  
  
Remus wondered if this would be his last glimpse of the living world. He tried to regret it, but instead felt the weight of the golden twig in his pocket. He thought of seeing Sirius again, of talking to Sirius. Even if he couldn’t touch Sirius, it would be all right. Love was the only protection against the savage past and the vacant future; the only escape from grim reality; and the only way to conquer death.  
  
London vanished, and the world around the motorboat pulsed with images. They were too rapid for Remus to distinguish, but he knew they were his life, speeding around like water circling a drain. They were turning the river into a whirlpool, and finally, finally pulling the motorboat under. Then they were gone, everything was gone, and it was dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I jumped in the river and what did I see?  
Black-eyed angels swam with me  
A room full of stars and astral cars  
All my lovers were there with me  
All my pasts and futures  
And we all went to heaven in a little row boat  
There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt”
> 
> —Radiohead, ‘Pyramid Song’
> 
> Cormac McCarthy’s novel _The Road_ provided the visuals and ideas for a couple of paragraphs towards the end of this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Charon had cut the motor, but the boat still drifted forward, finally coming to rest beside a stunted wooden pier. The riverbank was choked with dead rushes, and stank of decay and stagnant water. Remus found it hard to breathe the humid, smoky air, but harder to imagine walking alone into the wilderness. He looked at Charon for guidance, but the ferryman was smoking his pipe, his gaze fixed back across the river.  
  
“Goodbye, then,” said Remus. “I’ll just…”   
  
He got to his feet, and the boat swayed.  
  
“Steady, there!” Charon cried, reaching out to grasp the pier. “Don’t rock the boat, lad. The river swallows all.”  
  
“Sorry,” Remus muttered, quickly clambering onto the pier. It was sturdier than it looked, but some of the wooden boards were cracked or missing. Taking careful steps, he drew his wand to light the way.  
  
“Thank you,” he called to the ferryman.  
  
“Only my job,” Charon replied, echoing Sybill’s words. “Wasn’t a trouble. And since you’re a good sort, I’ll give you a word of advice.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Always keep to the path. The woods are lovely, dark and deep; but remember, Mr. Wolf, you’ve promises to keep, and miles to go before you sleep.”  
  
“Will do,” Remus replied, but Charon had already started the motor and pulled away from the bank, gliding out into the gloom.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Remus wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was famished. After brightening his wand to its full extent, he sat down and pulled some food from his pack: a ham-and-tomato sandwich, an apple, a chocolate bar and a handful of raisins. He washed it down with water from a bottle. It wasn’t enough to satisfy him, but he was anxious to keep moving; though he’d lived years without Sirius, his patience was thinning.  
  
Before closing his pack, he paused and took out the _Aeneid_, giving it a quick look-through. According to Virgil, he’d soon be facing Cerberus, the three-headed watchdog of the Underworld gates. If he made it past, he would meet the judge of the dead, King Minos, who would hopefully provide some answers about the prophecy.  
  
_And if I don’t make it past Cerberus_, he thought, _what happens then? Do I step from my body and continue on? Or am I trapped forever at the gates of the Underworld?_  
  
There was no way to know, and no way to go back. Remus focused on navigating the pier, tapping each board with his heel before stepping down. Once, he slipped and his heart jolted, but he pulled himself into a crouch and didn’t fall.   
  
When he reached dry land, barren and grey as it was, he fell to his knees and took deep breaths, calming himself. The sky had lightened from indigo to the colour of a new bruise, and a rocky outcrop was visible up ahead. It was a striking landmark on the flat, gravelled ground, with a cave at its centre.   
  
As Remus got to his feet, he imagined Cerberus lurking just inside the cave, waiting to spring out at intruders. Gripping his wand, he pulled some food from his bag: a thick piece of ham, a few sausages, and a gooey slice of chocolate cake. According to the literature, it was easier to distract the three-headed dog with food than overcome it by force. Cerberus had been chained without sunlight for most of eternity, watching the dead drift past, and it longed for life’s pleasures. It could also be bewitched by music, but Remus couldn’t carry a tune.  
  
He crafted a protection ward to shield himself, though he doubted it would last under an onslaught. The magic of the Underworld was as ancient as the universe, and Remus’s power would snap beneath it like a twig. Still, the ward reassured him, giving him the courage to dart forward as close as he dared.   
  
There was no sign of movement. Cerberus was probably crouching, tensed with anticipation.   
  
Remus levitated the food towards the mouth of the cave. He waited a few seconds, trying to breathe quietly while his heart thumped and blood thrummed in his ears. No giant paw came out to grasp the food; nothing sniffled, growled or barked. Had Cerberus rejected the offering?  
  
Remus didn’t know if he should make run for it, but he couldn’t stay where he was. He started at a brisk walk, taking frequent glances at the cave. There was still no sign of Cerberus. Remus broke into a run, sprinting across the gravel. He felt ridiculous, like a child escaping from shadows in the dark, but there was no other way. It was a choice between standing still and waiting for Cerberus to pounce, or running and hoping.  
  
He passed the cave and soon was over the rocks, following a path he hadn’t noticed before. Paved with glassy black stones, it twisted round and round through a landscape of boulders and dead trees. Remus’s feet pounded, his heart sped up, and he was afraid to look over his shoulder. Finally, when he couldn’t run anymore, he bent over and held his knees, panting like a marathon winner, and waited for Cerberus to reach him.   
  
Nothing happened. Recovering, Remus glanced around, seeing only the path winding into the distance. It was silent.   
  
He trudged forward, looking for signs of life. All he noticed was a solitary raven, flapping through the windless air. Further down the path, another raven was perched on one of the dead trees, watching Remus with beady eyes.   
  
Where had these ravens come from? How had the trees grown in the first place? _Perhaps_, Remus thought, _they were never alive. _  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Two sandwiches and two bottles of water later, Remus had started to worry. The path and landscape hadn’t changed, and he wondered if he’d taken the wrong route. Maybe this was a labyrinth, designed to ensnare the living. Or, worse, maybe this was hell, and he was already dead. There was no telling how long he might walk, or how far; he might run out of supplies before it was over.  
  
Then he saw it: a sloping hill in the distance. At first it shimmered like a heat-mirage; he squinted, raising his hand to shield his eyes, before remembering the lack of sunlight.   
  
The hill grew solid as he approached, bare and bald as a shaved scalp, with the black path winding up to the entrance of Minos’s courthouse. It was a drab-grey, neoclassical building, in the style of Muggle courthouses throughout the Western world. Out the front stood a statue of Lady Justice, blindfolded and clutching a set of scales, standing on a marble pedestal.   
  
Remus had expected a crowd of jostling ghosts, impatiently awaiting judgement, but the hill was deserted. When he reached the bottom, though, he thought he heard a whisper, somewhere ahead of him. As he climbed, the whispers grew clear, louder and more frequent, until he could make out snatches of words, then sentences. The dead were all around, but they were invisible: everyone was forced to make this journey alone.   
  
Curious, Remus listened, picking up snatches of languages he knew.   
  
_Hate him hate him hate…Suminasen onii-chan…Fuck you stupid cunt get your knife out of my face…Non je ne veux pas…I missed the train I missed the train…Besa mi culo puto…Help me please somebody why won’t he let me out I want mommy…They’ll never understand why I have to…Oh wow this is…Mon Dieu le ciel mais ou est le soleil?_  
  
Were the dead speaking aloud, or were the words echoes of their last thoughts? There were whimpers, groans and screams mixed in with the rest. There was laughter, too, and growls of rage, and sexual moans. It made Remus wonder what sound Sirius would have made while climbing this hill: a sound of anger or shock? Would he have made a sound at all? When he’d fallen, it had seemed silent.   
  
Remus tried to listen for Sirius, just in case he was still here, but the whispers grew into full-voiced yells, until they were a blur of sound and Remus covered his ears, but kept climbing. His ears were aching, his eardrums about to burst, when he staggered past the statue of Justice. It was quiet again, and he collapsed, belly-down on the cold ground.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“The living aren’t supposed to climb the hill,” said a low, smooth voice. “Actually, I didn’t think it was possible.”  
  
With effort, Remus lifted his head. There was man standing beside him, tall and burly, dressed in an elegant charcoal business suit.  
  
“Minos?”  
  
“At your service. And you are?”  
  
“Remus Lupin.”  
  
Minos bent down and extended his right hand; Remus took it, wincing as he struggled to his feet. As he straightened his robes, he studied Minos from the corner of his eye. A distinguished, clean-shaven man, just past middle-age, with neat grey hair and a maroon tie. On earth, he could have been any successful barrister or CEO.   
  
Remus recalled what Sybill had told him, on the banks of the Styx: _Everything you’ll see from here to Elysia will be exactly how you’ve always pictured it. Even if you didn’t realise, before, that you pictured it that way._  
  
Minos held out his hand again; it took Remus a moment to realise he should shake it. It was a warm, strong hand, but soft and smooth as a young man’s: the hand of a powerful man who’s never done physical work. Like a Western businessman, Minos held eye-contact throughout the handshake, and kept a disarming smile on his face.  
  
“A pleasure to meet you,” he declared, releasing Remus’s hand. “It’s a long time since anyone has paid me a visit, and even longer since I’ve seen a living human face.”  
  
“Well…actually, I’m a werewolf,” Remus found himself admitting. He hadn’t planned to, but the words just slipped out. He pressed his fingers to his mouth, startled.  
  
Minos’s face lit up. “Even better,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure.”  
  
“But…but…” Remus stammered. He’d never received such a positive reaction before, not even from his friends at school. “I mean—”  
  
Minos gave him a hearty pat on the back. “Come, my friend,” he said, guiding Remus towards the door of the courthouse. “We’ll have some cigars, some brandy, and you can tell me your whole fascinating story.”  
  
“I’m not here for judgement,” Remus managed. “I’m here because—”  
  
“Oh, you’ve got nothing to fear from me,” Minos chuckled. “I only judge the dead. But I enjoy a good yarn, and I know how to loosen a man’s tongue.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Minos led him through the concrete and marble corridors of the courthouse, and up a flight of stairs to a heavy mahogany door. A brass plate read, simply, _Minos_. There were two other doors, but Remus couldn’t read the names from where he stood.  
  
“Who do they belong to?” he asked.  
  
“My two brothers,” Minos explained, as he opened his door. “They assist me with my duties, and we keep each other company. As you can imagine, this job can grow tiresome. The dead are a boring lot, always with the same complaints and protests.”  
  
The office was just what Remus had anticipated. All the furniture was mahogany: a heavy desk, two forest-green leather chairs with wooden arms, and bookshelves lining the walls. Everything was designed for comfort; the lights were dim and warm-yellow, and Remus’s shoes sunk into the thick, light-green carpet as he walked inside. There were no windows, but the ceiling was high enough to avoid stuffiness.  
  
“Come, sit down,” said Minos, gesturing to one of the chairs. He walked over to a small cabinet, unlocked it, and took out a crystal decanter of brandy.   
  
Remus declined with a polite wave of his hand. It was well-known that eating or drinking the produce of the Underworld would trap you there forever; at least, without intervention by the gods. Proserpine, now Queen of the sunless lands, had initially been kidnapped and dragged below by King Pluto. She would have escaped, if she hadn’t eaten from a ripe, tempting pomegranate in his palace garden.   
  
“Oh, of course!” Minos laughed. “Believe me, I’m not trying to poison you. It’s just been such a long time. I suppose you can’t have a cigar, either?”  
  
“Better safe than sorry,” said Remus, with a faint smile. “I’ll eat one of my sandwiches.” _Peanut butter_, he thought, concentrating, as he rummaged through his pack. He took it out and set it on the desk in front of him, still wrapped in plastic.  
  
Minos sat down, brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other. “So, what are you doing in the Underworld? I suppose you’ve brought the golden bough.”  
  
“All that remains of it.”  
  
“Ah, sad times. A new bough used to grow whenever it was plucked, but the tree was destroyed more than a thousand years ago.” Minos took a sip of his brandy. “Fine stuff; it’s a pity you can’t drink it.”  
  
Remus cleared his throat, “Listen, Minos, I came here because there’s something I want to ask you.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” mused Minos. “It’s just that the last man who tried to climb the hill…well, his head exploded. It was terribly messy, I’m afraid. Of course, the ravens soon finished him off, and I was able to speak with his spirit. He’d come here on a minor prophecy quest. I assume your mission is similar?”   
  
“That’s right,” said Remus. “Unfortunately, I’ve no idea what the prophecy means. I haven’t had much time to think about it, actually.”  
  
Minos leaned forward, a spark of interest in his warm brown eyes. “Well, go ahead! Tell me the prophecy.”  
  
“_Two valued brothers have been lost; one roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands. Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness. He must seek the wizard who surpassed all others but could not fulfil his greatest wish. Together, they can petition the King to restore order_.”  
  
“Hmm…” Minos puffed away at his cigar for a moment, his brow crinkled in thought. “I honestly don’t know what it means. Aside from the last part, of course.”  
  
“_Together, they can petition the King to restore order_? I assume it refers to the King of these lands, Pluto, but I could be wrong.”  
  
“No, you’re right. He has many names, but Pluto will do. Just don’t call him Satan—he doesn’t like that.”  
  
“So, gaining an audience with Pluto will be the last stage of my journey?”  
  
Minos chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about gaining an audience. Pluto’s like me: he can be at a billion places at once. Once you reach his palace, he’ll see you immediately. He can be stubborn, though, and a bit pig-headed; but I suppose all the gods are like that. You seem a diplomatic sort, but even you should watch your step around Pluto. Whatever you do, don’t insult him.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
They sat in silence, as Minos tried to puzzle out the prophecy, and Remus unwrapped his sandwich and began eating the first half.  
  
“This is frustrating,” Minos murmured, finally. “The last stage is simple, but how to reach that stage? First you need to find out who the _two valued brothers are_. Then, you need to speak to this _wizard who surpassed all others_. Or perhaps you can ask the wizard who the brothers are?”  
  
“Or perhaps the key to the brothers is where they live. One is here, obviously, in the sunless lands. But what is _the darkest region under daylight_?”  
  
“The bottom of the ocean?” asked Minos, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve no idea. I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid you’re out of luck. I’ve seen a thousand male wizards who surpassed all others, many of whom weren’t able to _fulfil his greatest wish_, so I can’t solve that one either.”  
  
“Oh,” said Remus, trying to hide his disappointment. “Well, at least I know my destination. Now all I need is the journey.”  
  
He started to stand, clutching his pack, but Minos stopped him with gesture. “Wait a moment…what about the part that says: _Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness_? Why were you chosen for this journey, and why did you, in particular, want to come here? Perhaps you’re seeking these brothers, or this wizard, and you haven’t yet realised it.”  
  
“It’s true that I’m seeking a man. Unfortunately, his brother…well, both of his brothers—one blood-related and one chosen—are deceased. They’re certainly not at the bottom of the ocean.”  
  
“This man,” Minos asked, “he was your lover?”  
  
“He was,” Remus replied. “Though we were separated for more than a decade.”  
  
“Ah,” said Minos, nodding sagely. “A tragic love story. I’ve heard many of those, but never from a werewolf in love with a man. Love comes in many shapes and sizes. It’s a miraculous thing.” He sipped his brandy, with a small smile. “When I was human, I loved my wife very much…and many other women too, of course…and a few boys. I’m afraid I never found that one person, sought after by so many.”  
  
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t found him,” Remus confessed. “He rarely intended to hurt me, but he’s brought me more pain than pleasure.”  
  
“And yet, you seek him here. You would die for him.”  
  
“I would.”  
  
Minos nodded and pursed his lips. “Just remember, you can’t bring him back to life. It will be tempting to attempt it, of course, but you shouldn’t do it. Many have tried and failed. Always remember what happened to Orpheus.”  
  
“I’ve no intention of raising the dead.”  
  
“That’s good,” said Minos, nodding and relaxing back into his chair. “So, your lover…what was his name?”  
  
“Sirius Black.”  
  
Remus thought something changed in Minos’s expression, but then it passed and he put it down to his imagination. Minos couldn’t have recognised Sirius’s name, after all; not out of all the billions of people he’d judged. No, there was nothing amiss.   
  
“The dog star,” said Minos, with his disarming smile. “What an interesting name. I’ve found that names often impact a person’s character. Your Sirius…did he like dogs?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” said Remus. “Actually, he was an Animagus. He could transform into a dog, a great black one.”  
  
“Really? He was dog to your wolf and a star to your moon? What a match.”  
  
“I’ve always thought so,” said Remus, with a fond smile. “Sirius was so much like a dog, too; always hungry for affection and attention. He loved very deeply and sometimes very stupidly, and though he was impulsive and quick to anger, he was also full of praise and empathy for his friends. Like a dog, he was a terrible enemy and the best kind of ally. But why am I telling you this?”  
  
“I just have that effect on people,” said Minos, with a wink. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to ask me?”  
  
“Actually, that’s all,” said Remus. “I’ll finish my sandwich, and then I’ll be on my way.”  
  
He picked it up and drew it to his lips; but then he paused, frowning. The sandwich didn’t smell right. Though it was still peanut butter in wholemeal bread, there was something off about it. A human nose probably wouldn’t have detected the difference, but the wolf gave Remus a heightened sense of smell.   
  
He realised Minos was watching him, intently, over the rim of his brandy. What on earth was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charon alludes to the last lines of Robert Frost's poem ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’: 
> 
> “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Cerberus,” said Remus, putting the sandwich down.   
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“I just remembered; I wanted to ask you about Cerberus.”  
  
Remus paused, gathering his thoughts, but his mind wasn’t on the three-headed dog. Why would Minos suddenly want to harm him? And what had the sandwich smelt like? If it was poison, he wasn’t familiar with it.   
  
“It puzzled me when Cerberus didn’t appear,” he said. “I offered him food, but there was no sign of him. It was disturbing—I thought he’d leap out at any moment.”  
  
“Oh, he’s not what he used to be,” Minos replied, with a wave of his hand that scattered cigar ash across the desk. “He isn’t immortal, you know, and lately he’s been falling asleep on the job. The King is looking for a replacement and he’s terribly upset. I’m afraid we’ll have to put old Cerberus down.”  
  
Remus couldn’t care less, but managed a frown of concern. “Oh…well, that’s a shame. Lucky for me, though, I suppose.”  
  
Minos nodded and finished the last of his brandy. Remus struggled not to stare at the sandwich, and he sensed Minos was doing the same. It seemed ridiculous to be so concerned about a peanut butter sandwich, but neither man could help it; between them, the sandwich sat as though about to explode.  
__  
Perhaps it is_ about to explode_, thought Remus.   
  
“Well, I’ll be off,” he said, getting to his feet. He tried to smile, but only managed a slight curve of his lips. “Thank you so much for your time.”  
  
Minos raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to finish your sandwich?”  
  
Remus shrugged as he pulled on his pack. “I’m quite full,” he replied, patting his stomach. “I’d best be on my way.”  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Relieved, Remus produced a genuine smile. Minos returned it, but his eyes had changed; they’d grown blank and dark, inhuman, like the piercing glare of a raven. His grey hair was streaked with black, and there was something sharp about the tilt of his mouth.   
  
Remus turned and walked quickly to the door. He slid his hand into his robes and clasped his wand, though he doubted magic would be any use. This was Minos’s opportunity to attack, and there would be no way to bribe or trick his way out. If Minos decided to kill him, it would happen in a heartbeat. He would find himself staring down at his own lifeless body.  
  
By the time he reached the door and took hold of the knob, Remus was shaking. Then he remembered what Minos had told him: _I only judge the dead_. Maybe Minos wasn’t able to directly attack the living? That would explain the subterfuge with the sandwich, Remus realised. If Minos could have killed him outright, he would surely be dead already.   
  
“Have a safe journey,” Minos called. His voice was like the caw of an angry bird, hard and grating.  
  
“I’ll do my best,” Remus replied, without turning his head.   
  
As he stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him, he was relieved to find himself in the corridor he’d entered from. He’d been expecting Minos’s two brothers to jump out at him, but he couldn’t see anyone.  
  
Still cautious, Remus pressed his back to the wall and took out his wand, retracing his steps as quickly as possible. Down the corridor, down the stairs, to the right, then to the left, then to the right again. He opened a door, expecting to find the entrance foyer, but there was just another corridor lined with blank doors. Thinking he’d missed a turn, he went back a little and tried again, but there was still no sign of an exit.  
  
“Bastard,” he muttered, understanding.   
  
The courthouse had become a maze, though there was little point trying to solve it. This was a trap, not a labyrinth, and Remus would be stuck until he ran out of supplies and died of starvation. Minos wasn’t able to murder anyone, but he was free to change the shape of his own house. Defeated for the moment, Remus took off his pack and leant against the wall, wishing he’d brought a few bottles of Firewhisky.   
  
“Minos?” he called. “I’ve obviously upset you, and I’m truly sorry. Please let me out of here so I can fulfil this blasted prophecy.”  
  
There was no answer.  
  
“I know you can hear me,” Remus continued, raising his voice even louder. “At least tell me what I did to offend you.”  
  
He wasn’t really expecting a response. When none came, he thought for a moment, going through his options. Apparation was at the top of the list, but the idea made him wary. Apparating in the Underworld seemed a risky venture; everything was fluid and unstable, shaped by his ideas and beliefs. He could end up anywhere, stuck in anything, or even splinched in an unusual way.   
__  
Of course, he thought, _it might not be possible to Apparate._  
  
He closed his eyes and probed the courthouse for anti-Apparation wards. A few seconds later he flinched, clutching his head, as the wards repelled his magic. They weren’t like the ones at Hogwarts, but Remus had felt them before, in various secret enclaves around the world; they were the kind that splinched you into pieces so tiny, you would appear to disintegrate. He could try to unlock them, but it wasn’t worth the risk.  
  
What else was there to try? His second option, he decided, was to explore the rooms behind each of the unmarked doors, in search of someone or something that could help. After slinging on his pack and tucking his wand into his pocket, he threw open the nearest door.  
  
There was nothing behind it. Outer-space, maybe, but there were no stars or galaxies, just darkness without air or movement. Remus pushed the door closed and strode over to the next one. It was the same, but this time he thought he heard whispers, very faint, echoing out of the airless void.   
  
“Like the veil,” he whispered. He remembered what Sybill had told him about the veil: it led directly into death. These portals had probably been set up by Minos in the hope that Remus would pass through, just as Sirius had fallen.  
  
Remus slammed the door. “Let me out of here!” he shouted, staring around at the straight, corporate design of the grey walls and ceiling.   
  
He thought the corridor seemed narrower than before, and wondered if claustrophobia was affecting him, or whether Minos was using the courthouse to swallow and devour him. He panicked for a moment, pale and panting with his forehead pressed to the wall. Then it came to him: a third option.   
  
Remus reached deep into his pocket and drew out the golden twig, still wrapped in two handkerchiefs. With shaky hands, he peeled them away, then clutched the twig to his chest and felt its warmth spread through him. The sensation was just as it had been in the British Museum, only stronger; his whole body seemed to glow with light and peace.   
  
He knew what he needed to do. “Proserpine,” he muttered, “look into my mind if you need to, but please believe me. I’ve come to see my lover and fulfil a prophecy. Grant me safe passage.”   
  
His feet left the ground. For a moment he floated, immersed in a golden heat that felt like love. In those few seconds he forgot everything: the lycanthropy that had brought him countless hours of agony, and years of solitude and poverty; those first nights without Sirius, when he could hardly breathe and couldn’t sleep; all the battles against Voldemort and all the losses; and finally, knowledge of his own mistakes and misdeeds.  
  
Then he landed on his feet, at an awkward angle that jarred his knees and sent him sprawling with an “Oof!” His face and palms grazed against the ground, his head connecting with a crack, and for a moment he blacked out.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It was dark twilight, but when his vision adjusted he could see well enough. Brown, broken pine needles mixed in with the white stones of a path, and gnarled tree roots further off. He knew he was in a forest from the smell, resin and a carpet of rotting needles, but there was none of the usual animal musk. He could smell something else, though: old human blood, stinking like rain-soaked, rusted iron.  
  
Remus flinched as he scrambled to his feet. He was exhausted, with pain in his joints and behind his eyes. Looking at his surroundings, he steeled himself for the sight of the dead, or at least of their blood, but there was only the forest, towering dark pines that blocked out most of the light. He stared up at the few patches of sky; no stars, but it seemed as though the sun had just set.   
  
Up ahead, the path wound between massive black trunks. It was thin, sparse and looked in danger of petering out, but the white stones reassured Remus, reminding him of his mother’s favourite fairytale about children lost in the woods.  
  
Before continuing, he reached into his pack and pulled out a slim vial of Invigoration Draught, draining it in two swallows. He wiped his mouth, already feeling much better, and watched as the vial filled itself up with another dose. Sleep was what he really longed for, but it would have to wait; there was Minos to consider, and the threatening smell of blood. Anything could come crawling out of the dark woods, and Remus didn’t want to put all of his faith in the golden twig. It had saved him once, but there was no guarantee that Proserpine would be generous a second time.  
  
He checked through his other supplies, worried that Minos might have taken something, but his rations seemed to be in order and he still had his books. Frowning thoughtfully, he looked through the _Aeneid _until he reached the part about Minos, then flipped further. He’d forgotten the next section, but it came back to him as he read.   
  
“Aeneas journeys into the forest of mourning: the home of those whose despair holds them back from heaven and hell,” Remus muttered, summarising as he scanned the text. “He meets his lover Dido, who committed suicide when he abandoned her...but what does she do? She refuses to speak and—”  
  
Something rustled and Remus glanced in the direction of the sound. He thought he saw someone walk between the trees, pale-faced in a long black cloak, but it was only a glimpse and he decided his tired brain was playing tricks on him. He closed the book and slid it back in his pack; in a few moments, he was walking down the path at a brisk, quiet pace, with his eyes and ears focused on the forest.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
After he’d walked for a long time without seeing anything, Remus’s mind wandered to his conversation with Minos. He wanted to understand the situation, but there was too much that didn’t make sense. He tried to convince himself that Minos had been planning something all along, and had only appeared charming at first because he’d wanted to hear about the prophecy. This would have made a tidy explanation, but it didn’t ring true: Minos hadn’t started behaving oddly until Remus had mentioned Sirius.   
  
How could Sirius have left such a negative impression? It wasn’t as though Minos was a Hogwarts Professor, who would always remember how the eldest Black boy turned the Slytherins pink on Valentine’s Day. To Minos, Sirius should have been nothing more than another angry, arrogant, shouting soul, one of the thousands that passed through each day. His death had been unusual, but surely there were many strange, magic-related deaths occurring all the time. The veil itself, according to Sybill, was _a passage straight to final judgement_, and Minos might not have even noticed the difference.  
  
Remus shook his head and rubbed the crease between his eyes. He didn’t understand and he wasn’t going to understand, but maybe he’d be able to ask Sirius. Aside from Minos, Sirius was the only one who’d know, and perhaps be willing to boast about it as though he’d pulled a spectacular prank. The thought made Remus smile.   
  
He’d grown hungry, so he stopped and reached into his pack, pulling out a crisp red apple. As he ate, he thought about the sandwich he’d left in Minos’s office. It hadn’t been flavoured with poison or tainted in any other way: otherwise he would have picked up a foreign scent, separate from the peanut butter and bread. But if nothing had been added, what had changed? Maybe something had been taken away.   
  
Remus chewed thoughtfully, staring out through the trees, until he understood what the sandwich had been missing: its vitality. Minos had drained the life from it, turning it into the food of the dead. If Remus had eaten it he would have been trapped forever in the Underworld, like Proserpine with her pomegranate: a cold existence between life and death, in darkness, without the touch of anything but gods and demons.  
  
_Probably best not to dwell on it_, Remus thought, suppressing a shudder.  
  
He finished his apple and dropped the core onto the path. He doubted it would decompose, but at least it would add some novelty to the dreary woods. Adjusting his pack, he turned and resumed trudging along the path, dreaming of a hot cup of tea, crumpets and some morning sunshine.   
  
Then he froze, staring, his pulse pounding.  
  
Severus Snape was standing a few yards ahead, right beside the path. Dressed in dour black robes, with jaundiced bony features and lank hair covering his ears and forehead, he looked as he had his whole life, down to the sneer on his thin lips. He was staring at Remus with contempt in his eyes, but behind it was pure sorrow and pain that made Remus’s heart clench.  
  
“Severus?” he whispered, walking closer.  
  
Snape kept glaring and didn’t say a word. There was thick, crimson blood dripping from his chest, leaking down over his black robes and onto his thin white hands. He wasn’t breathing, but that wasn’t surprising; he’d been dead for years, since the last battle against Voldemort. In the end he’d been hailed as a hero after saving Harry’s life, but no one had known for certain where his loyalties had lain.   
  
Remus had always pitied Snape, but he’d tried to hide his feelings, knowing from experience how much crueller pity could be than hatred. Despite this, at school he’d never tried to stand up for Snape or help him in any way. He’d been afraid to damage the few friendships he’d made, and of being just as isolated and pitiable as ‘Snivellus’.  
  
In the end they’d both spent much of their lives as lonely, impoverished men, neither of them handsome and both proud in their own ways. Remus had often thought about apologising for his inaction at Hogwarts, knowing how his help and support might have kept Snape from the Death Eaters. He’d also known how little his apology would mean to Snape, coming from a werewolf. Snape’s fear and loathing of dark creatures was ingrained, and there was nothing Remus could have done to change that.  
  
Even so, he’d been given one last chance to apologise and offer his help, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away. He opened his mouth to speak, but Snape turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Remus followed his gaze.   
  
In the woods, leaning against a tree, was a tall, fair-skinned man with black hair, and grey eyes that gleamed even in the gloom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Far below a furry moon  
Our purposes crossed  
The weird divide  
Between our kinds 
> 
> The silver leaves of ailing trees  
Took flights as we passed so long ago  
But a short time I know”
> 
> \- The Shins, ‘Weird Divide’
> 
> The pine forest is actually: “The vale of mourning…a region where those consumed by the wasting torments of merciless love haunt the sequestered alleys and myrtle groves that give them cover; death itself cannot cure them of love's disease.” (_Aeneid_, p. 170, Oxford World Classics Edition) 
> 
> Here is a description of Dido: “Amongst them, with her death-wound still bleeding, through the deep wood was straying Phoenician Dido.” (_Aeneid_, p. 171, Oxford World Classics Edition)


	9. Chapter 9

Regulus Black wore Death Eater robes, splattered with mud from the field where they’d dumped his body. The pointed hood was torn and pushed back from his face, and the broken skull mask dangled from a cord around his neck. Like Snape, he was bleeding from a deep wound in his chest; and like Snape, he kept silent.  
  
“Regulus? It’s Remus. Remus Lupin. Do you remember me?”   
  
Sirius’s brother nodded, to Remus’s relief. They hadn’t spoken much at Hogwarts, or even later, when Regulus had tried to leave the Death Eaters. Then he’d been murdered on a Saturday night in 1979, while Sirius and James were at a Clash concert in London, and Remus was in Ireland trying to negotiate with banshees. He’d returned to find Sirius shocked and sullen, unable to attend the funeral because of his parents.  
  
After weeks of nightmares and rages, Remus had suggested a visit to the Black family crypt, as a chance to say goodbye and put Regulus’s memory to rest. Sirius had agreed without protest. So, early one morning, they’d huddled under the invisibility cloak and followed a group of grave-diggers into the London Wizarding Cemetery.   
  
The crypt had been made of crumbling grey stone, with _TOUJOURS PUR_ carved above the entrance, half-hidden by a shroud of dark, bitter-scented ivy. The fall of the House of Black had been imminent, but Remus had still found the crypt impressive; outlined against the grey dawn, it had looked like the ancient tomb of a Pharaoh.   
  
Sirius had opened the massive black door with his family key, one of the few things he’d taken from the house at Grimmauld Place. The door had creaked and Remus had caught a glimpse of silver urns, filled with ashes from the funeral pyres.   
  
Then a hoarse voice had called out from the gloom, “Who’s there? Show yourself!”  
  
They’d leapt back, moving as one beneath the cloak. Sirius had hissed “Sniv—” before Remus had clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him away, around the corner of the Malfoys’ crypt. Their backs pressed to the cold white marble, they’d taken a few deep breaths, before turning to watch as Snape had emerged, his wand ready for a fight.   
  
“It’s you, Black, isn’t it? Why don’t you show your cowardly face?” Snape had snarled, his matted hair swinging as he’d turned his head, tendrils clinging to his cheek. His eyes had been red-rimmed, his pallid skin bearing new lines. “What are you afraid of?” he’d taunted. “Or is it guilt, Black? After all, you did this to him. You killed your brother, you arrogant, callous prig. Come out and we’ll put an end to this forever.”   
  
Sirius had lunged forward, intending to do just that, but Remus had tugged him back by the collar. “Come on, Padfoot,” he’d whispered, pulling Sirius away. “We’ll come back another time.”  
  
Sirius had looked pale and sick, his palm pressed to his mouth. Much later, back at their flat, he’d sat bent over on the couch and muttered, “My brother—_him_ and _my brother—_”   
  
As far as Remus knew, Sirius had never forgiven Regulus. From then on, he’d spoken of his brother with scorn, and hadn’t paid another visit to the crypt. If he’d known Regulus was trapped in a prison even worse than Azkaban, he might have been more forgiving.  
  
Remus couldn’t take his eyes from the heart-wound in Regulus’s chest, and the dark blood pouring out. Regulus was shorter and stockier than Sirius, with heavier features, but his eyes were the same; they made Remus want to walk over and offer comfort, disregarding the consequences as he would have done for Sirius. As though sensing this, Regulus folded his arms and slowly shook his head.  
  
Snape, who’d been standing beside the path, stiff and silent as one of the trees, turned abruptly and walked back to Regulus. The two men stood side by side, gazing at each other; then they shifted, as though about to leave.  
  
“Wait,” said Remus, moving to the edge of the path, as close as he dared. “I want to—I need to—”   
  
Regulus shook his head again, pressing one thin finger to his lips. Remus knew what the gesture meant: there was no need for words. In this place, apologies were trite and meaningless, and offers of comfort were far too late. What might have made a difference in life would just serve as a reminder of failure and loss.  
  
Remus nodded his understanding, and the two men turned away. They were identical from behind, black and tattered, and Remus watched them go with a sick, heavy feeling in his chest. They were almost out of sight when he remembered.   
  
“Regulus!” he called after them. Sirius’s brother turned again, his face pale as the moon and shadowed by the trees. “I understand if you don’t, but please…let me know if you’ve seen your brother. Did he pass this way?”  
  
Regulus nodded, and pointed in the direction of Minos’s courthouse. Remus, startled, glanced back down the path. How could it be true?   
  
“You saw him walk that way?”  
  
Regulus nodded again.   
  
“And…and did he come back?” Remus asked haltingly, as his heart began to pound with fear. “Is he here, now?”  
  
Regulus shook his head.  
  
“Thank Merlin,” Remus muttered, closing his eyes and wiping sweat from his forehead.   
  
There was nothing left to say. When Remus opened his eyes, Snape and Regulus were gone, but the smell of old blood remained.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
As he walked through the last part of the forest, Remus felt like he’d never be happy again; but when he reached the edge of the trees, he reconsidered. Beyond the forest lay flat, grassy plains that stretched to the horizon. Remus smiled as he stared at the knee-high grass and white asphodel flowers; finally, he’d reached the last region before Elysium.  
  
The plains were populated by slain warriors, who spent eternity re-enacting old wars. Allies remained allies, enemies remained enemies, but there was no longer any chance of bloodshed. They were the eternal fighters, who’d chosen the path of warfare. Remus didn’t expect to find his friends here; if it weren’t for Voldemort and the Order, none of them would have been soldiers. James had dreamt of playing professional Quidditch, while Lily had planned for motherhood and a career with the Ministry.   
  
Sirius had been more conflicted; he hadn’t wanted to follow in his family’s footsteps, but because he’d been groomed for a life of idle refinement, getting a job had been a strange concept to him. He’d talked about exploring the world and collecting powerful ancient artefacts, but he’d also talked about opening a club and throwing extravagant parties every weekend. At the time, they’d been living off Sirius’s inheritance money and the paycheques Remus had brought in from a series of menial Muggle jobs. Sirius’s talks about the future had always begun with “When the war’s over, let’s—” and finished with “I just want to _live_, Moony; that’s all. Is that too much to bloody ask? Why do you always have to be so dour?”   
  
Wishing he had a Pensieve to clear out some of his memories, Remus paused to eat, drink and take a brief rest; then, after another swallow of Invigoration Draught, he set off across the plains.   
  
It was a much easier trek than the forest, with a straight, clear path and the sweet smell of asphodel in the air. The sunset-orange sky was also a relief, after the looming trees. He wanted to step off the path for a moment and lie down in the grass, to feel its lush greenery against his skin, but he knew he’d never find his way again.   
  
After about an hour, he was surprised to spot a man to his right, walking towards him; well, stumping towards him, on what soon turned out to be a false leg. The man was short and powerfully-built, dressed in bulky brown robes. His face was twisted with scars; it looked like the clay sculpture of a careless child. One of his eyeballs had been replaced with a blue glass globe, which swivelled around at a disconcerting speed.   
  
“Moody,” Remus called. “It’s good to see you.”  
  
“Glad you’ve got your wits about you, Lupin,” Mad-Eye Moody growled, as he hobbled right up to the path. “Did you have the sense to bring a flask or two of Ogden’s Finest?”  
  
“I’m afraid not. But could you drink it?”  
  
Moody grunted. “Probably not. It’s a hard death, let me tell you,” he said, scowling. “Not that I’m complaining. Got plenty of company, and I still need to watch my back. Constant vigilance!”  
  
“Constant vigilance,” Remus repeated automatically; the words having been drilled into him during the first war. He could still picture Moody as he was back then, with fewer scars and more body parts, pacing in front of a blackboard in Order headquarters, _‘Constant Vigilance’_ written in a thick chalk scrawl.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Moody growled, as polite as ever.   
  
“A prophecy quest, actually.”  
  
Moody scowled again. “A prophecy! A likely story. You’re still chasing after that rogue, aren’t you? Lupin, he’s not worth half of you. And he’s no Eurydice, that’s certain.”  
  
“If you’re talking about Sirius,” said Remus, a bit stiffly, “yes, I’d like to see him, but I’m no Orpheus. I’m honestly here because of a prophecy.”  
  
“All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Moody muttered. “What’s this prophecy, then?”  
  
“Do you mind if we walk as we talk? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”  
  
“Doesn’t worry me.”   
  
“Right then.”  
  
They walked side by side, Moody’s magical eye fixed on Remus as he explained about Sybill, the prophecy and his journey so far.  
  
“Snape and Reggie, those poor devils,” said Moody, when Remus had finished. “Knew they’d come to a sticky end, but not _that_ sticky.”  
  
“What do you think about Minos?”  
  
Moody shrugged. “Sounds like Black caused a bit of ruckus,” he growled, with a note of pride in his voice. “Maybe he took a detour on the way to Elysium, and gave Minos a piece of his mind? Interrupted some bureaucratic processes, most likely.”  
  
“Surely it was more than that?”  
  
“The Underworld’s just like anywhere else. Rearrange their filing system and they’ll act like you’ve murdered their children.”  
  
“I suppose so,” said Remus, reluctantly. He still couldn’t explain how Sirius had walked in the wrong direction through the forest of mourning.  
  
“You always worried too much,” Moody growled. “Even when you were a boy. Why don’t you ask Black about it? No use fretting like an old woman.”  
  
Remus frowned. “I’m not fretting. I’m…I’m musing.”  
  
“Then why don’t you put that mind to good use? Tell me the prophecy again.”  
  
“_Two valued brothers have been lost; one roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands. Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness. He must seek the wizard who surpassed all others but could not fulfil his greatest wish. Together, they can petition the King to restore order._”  
  
“Well, I don’t know about the brothers, and you’ve told me about the King. But what about the wizard? Surely you know who it is.”  
  
“I haven’t the foggiest.”  
  
“Go on, boy; use that scholarly brain of yours.”  
  
“I’m telling you, I don’t know. There must be at least a thousand dead wizards who fit that description. Even Merlin himself would do.”  
  
“Look, Lupin, if you were going to make a list, who would be at the top?”  
  
“Voldemort, of course.”  
  
Moody’s whole face, even his swirling eye, seemed to droop with disappointment. “Not _him_. He was nothing compared to—”  
  
“Dumbledore,” Remus cut in. “But surely Dumbledore wasn’t unsatisfied? He was practically omniscient.”  
  
Moody looked more sombre than Remus had ever seen him; and considering Moody had delivered the news of Sirius’s arrest, that was saying something.  
  
“You didn’t know Albus like I knew him. We were like brothers—like your Black and Potter. We spent our youth fighting dark magic and pure-blood corruption. Then Grindelwald came along, the worst of the lot; well, back then we thought he was. After his defeat, we expected to spend our old age in relative peace. I’d never looked forward to retirement, mind. I was an Auror, always searching for another fight, another evil to cut down. But peace was just what Albus wanted: an ordinary life, a quiet place by the fire, and maybe a pair of socks to darn. I’m telling you, boy; I knew Albus. He was a brilliant strategist and the most powerful wizard alive, but because of that, he never got what he wanted.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
The journey was long, and Remus was grateful for Moody’s company. They shared war stories, but it was mostly Moody talking, telling bawdy and bloody tales from the war against Grindelwald; and from even earlier, when Dumbledore and Moody had been young men in the nineteenth century. Remus found himself laughing for the first time in days, maybe weeks. He even managed to sleep for a few hours, reassured by Moody keeping watch beside him.  
  
Finally, the path branched into two paved roads. To the left was Tartarus, its smoke pouring up from the outlines of black mountains. Remus hoped he wouldn’t need to journey there. To the right was Elysium, though he could see nothing but the golden turrets of Pluto’s palace.   
  
“I won’t see you again,” Moody growled. “Not allowed any further; those are the rules.”  
  
“All right,” Remus replied. He gazed, for the last time, at the grizzled old man who’d trained him, bullied him and toughened him; but who had also loved him, and loved Sirius too, in his own way. “I won’t forget you.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter if you do. But tell Albus—well, tell him you saw me. Minerva still alive?”  
  
“She is.”  
  
“If you happen to see her, tell her I’m all right. And that the best man won, in the end. She’ll know what that means.”   
  
“I’ll tell her, don’t worry. Goodbye, Moody.”  
  
Moody grunted, nodded, and then stumped away across the plains. Remus watched him for a while, before he turned and began to walk down the road to Elysium.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
The sky grew brighter, and the plains became a garden. There were flowers more vibrant and perfumed than Remus had ever imagined, and lush trees weighed down by fruit: glittering golden apples, oranges bright and swollen with ripeness, pink-blushing mangoes as big as his head, and plump, ruby-red pomegranates. Herbs and vegetables grew too, all larger and more luscious than usual. Everything grew at random, without borders or sections, mixing chilli peppers and coconut palms, primroses and baobab trees.  
  
Remus began noticing animals after a few minutes in the garden. At first there were only butterflies and bees, but then a grey cat slunk out from some bamboo and, after a frightened glance at Remus, scurried off into the shrubbery. Soon, Remus had glimpsed several hovering hummingbirds, two tapirs, a macaw parrot, an anteater, a kangaroo hopping by, and a giraffe craning its neck to nip leaves from a tree.  
  
He would have liked to stay and see more, but the palace was so close, taking up most of the horizon, and he couldn’t help hurrying towards it. Coated in gold and silver, with turquoise windows and a forest of turrets, the palace looked like it could house a whole country; though as far as Remus knew, it was only inhabited by Pluto, Proserpine and their servants.  
  
He thought about the prophecy, and felt intimidated by the prospect of meeting Pluto. As he drew closer to the palace, he worried about confronting Pluto too soon, but then the path wended to the right, through a glade of poplars, pines and eucalypts, until it reached a golden gate set in a towering marble wall.   
  
Remus remembered old Muggle jokes about meeting St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, but there was no one to greet him. The gate was too high to peer over, and decorated with many golden branches, all joined together into the shape of a tree. Remus reached deep into his pocket and pulled out the golden twig. After unwrapping it from his handkerchiefs, he walked up to the gate and wedged it into a gap, where it fused instantly.  
  
“Proserpine, this is my offering to you: the last part of your golden bough to be found on Earth. Please grant me entrance to Elysium.”  
  
He opened his eyes, hoped it was enough, and then gritted his teeth as he pushed against the gate. It opened and he stepped through with one thought: _I need to see Sirius_.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Remus hadn’t expected to see this house again. James and Lily had abandoned it to go into hiding, and the Death Eaters had burnt it to the ground soon afterwards. In December 1981, Remus had visited for the last time. The Aurors had cleaned up the mess by then, and there’d been nothing left of the house but a weedy patch of earth. Only the garden had remained, but Lily’s rosebushes had been pruned down to bare stumps for the winter. Remus hadn’t stayed long.  
  
Now the roses were blooming, velvet reds and sunlight yellows, and the weatherboard house looked as it had when James and Lily had bought it: ramshackle, with a mossy roof and peeling blue paint on the window-shutters; a tilted brick chimney; and a flourishing glory vine covering the left side. The garden path, paved with flat grey stones, curled between the roses and led up to the wooden verandah. This was the house where Harry should have grown up: the house that James and Lily would have made their home, if they’d been given time.   
  
Remus hurried up the path, up the verandah steps, and pounded on the door. He heard footsteps and held his breath, and then the knob twisted and he was looking at Lily. It was so strange to see Harry’s eyes in her face; of course, he reminded himself, it was the other way around.  
  
Lily was not quite the same Lily he’d last seen in 1981, when she and James had been about to go into hiding. She’d been thin and pale then, kept up every night by Harry and her worries for the future, but still with a determined set to her chin and a brisk, no-nonsense voice. This Lily was the same age, but she looked more like he remembered from school; her face was healthy and flushed, her thick hair tied in a loose ponytail, and she was beaming at him. He wanted to smile, too, but he couldn’t remember how.  
  
“Remus,” she said, stepping forward to hug him. When her arms passed through his body, she jumped back in shock. “But you’re…”  
  
“Alive. Yes.” Then he choked and said, “Lily, I—” but he couldn’t remember what he’d been going to say; really, he just wanted to stare at her.  
  
She turned quickly and called into the house, “James! Hurry up!”  
  
“James?” Remus whispered.  
  
“Of course, don’t be daft,” she whispered back, with a cheeky smile. “You think that soft-hearted git would abandon me?” She turned and called again, “James! I mean it, get here right this instant! There’s someone who wants to see you very much.”  
  
“It’s not that I didn’t expect him to be here,” Remus explained. “I just…you know, this whole way, I knew I’d be seeing you again. I knew it, but now that it’s happening I’m not sure I—”  
  
Just then, James appeared beside Lily, and Remus couldn’t speak. When he saw James, standing there as plain and ordinary as ever—his friend James with untidy black hair and a prankster’s smile—it was so odd and so familiar that it almost took Remus’s knees out. He hadn’t felt so much in such a long time; he was afraid he might cry.   
  
“Moony!” James shouted, with a bright grin. He tried to give Remus a clap on the back, but then he pulled away, frowning and muttering, “That’s not right.”  
  
“He’s still alive,” Lily explained.  
  
James squinted through his glasses. “Is he, now? Well, that’s easily fixed—”   
  
Lily elbowed him in the ribs and he winced.   
  
“Prongs,” said Remus, helplessly. “Prongs, it’s you.”  
  
“Of course it’s me! You feeling all right, mate? You look a bit more tired than usual.”  
  
“I’m…” Remus gave a shaky laugh. “I think I need to sit down.”  
  
“Right, of course, come in!” said Lily, and he followed her and James down the hallway and into the sitting room.   
  
The furniture was all the same, and Remus took a sharp breath when he saw it: the striped saggy couches Lily’s mum had given her, the Persian rug bought on sale, and the print of Monet’s waterlilies above the fireplace. The coffee table was missing a leg, so James had propped it up with a stack of old school textbooks.   
  
“We spent so much time in this room,” said Remus, walking around slowly as he took it all in, before finally sitting down. “We drank and talked, and played Gobstones, and smoked and listened to records…we were just kids.”  
  
“Well, we can do all of that again,” James replied with a grin, flopping onto the couch opposite Remus and stretching out. “What did you think you’d find here? Us floating on clouds and playing harps? We were given whatever we wanted—”  
  
“—so we kept the house just the way it was,” Lily finished, smiling at James as she sat down beside him. “We don’t want anything else.”  
  
“We miss Harry, of course,” said James, giving Remus a solemn look. “At first it was bloody awful. Lily couldn’t stop crying, and I just kept thinking—well, I thought he’d be joining us soon, anyway. But then he didn’t, and we knew he’d be all right. We thought you and—” Lily shot him a sharp look, and he swallowed “—we thought he’d be in safe hands. Turns out he was, so all’s well that ends well.”  
  
“We wish we could have seen him grow up, but the important thing is that he’s happy and healthy, and he gets to live a full life; besides, it’s hard to stay unhappy here,” said Lily, her eyes shining. “I suppose after a while it just seems so natural and ordinary, to have left everything and everyone behind, even Harry. Existence continues, on and on, slowly and beautifully, and it’s—” she paused, thinking “—it’s the most wonderful feeling of contentment, Remus,” she finished in a rush.  
  
“I’m just—I’m just so glad to find the two of you like this,” said Remus, managing a tired smile. “I’m overwhelmed. I can’t believe it’s real. But of course I need to see—”  
  
“You must be exhausted,” said Lily, cutting him off. “Why don’t you lie down in the spare room, and then you can tell us all about it when you wake up?”  
  
“But what about—?”  
  
“Come on, Remus,” Lily continued, briskly. She went to stand up, but James shook his head and gently pulled her back down, draping his arm around her shoulders; of course, she pushed it off. “James, stop manhandling me. Remus needs to rest; he must have been travelling for days, through who-knows-what, and—”  
  
“And he’s going to find out sometime. We should tell him now, just in case…you know.”  
  
That was it, then. Remus wanted to leave the room or block his ears like a child. He was so numb, suddenly, and everything seemed still and quiet except for his heartbeat; the only heartbeat in the room.   
  
“Say it now, Prongs,” he said, leaning forward and holding James’s gaze. “Tell me what’s happened to Sirius. I need to know.”  
  
“Sirius is here,” said James, quickly. “Don’t worry about that; he’s not in hell, he’s here with us. But he’s—”  
  
“Is he staying with you?”  
  
“Sometimes,” James answered, sounding nervous; he avoided Remus’s eyes by adjusting his glasses, an old trick. “He isn’t exactly…he doesn’t stay anywhere permanent, not like me and Lily. It’s really hard to explain. He comes here quite often; well, probably quite often. We lose track of the time a lot, because we can make the sun rise and set whenever we want. It isn’t a real sun, you see. Anyway, at the moment we’re not sure where Padfoot’s run off to, but he always comes back.”  
  
Remus, boneless with relief, sagged back against the couch. “Thank Merlin,” he whispered. “He’s here. Why did you worry me like that?”  
  
“Well, as James said, it’s hard to explain,” said Lily, matter-of-fact as ever. “Why don’t we talk about it over tea and scones?”  
  
“Thank you, Lily, but I can’t eat—”  
  
The front door banged open, and the three of them turned to stare as footsteps clunked along the hallway.  
  
“That must be him,” James muttered. “Fuck.”  
  
Remus got to his feet and felt the blood drain from his face.   
  
Sirius walked into the room. Sirius, still dressed in the robes he’d worn while falling, and still with the same lines around his eyes and mouth, and the same pale, sunken-cheeked look to his face, and the same boniness Molly’s cooking hadn’t managed to smooth out.   
  
Sirius was there in a moment, reaching out for Remus, trying to embrace him.   
  
“Why can’t I—” Sirius whispered, his voice broken, as his hands searched for Remus’s body “—where…are you even here? Can you see him, Prongs? It’s Moony, he just…I can’t…”  
  
“He’s here,” said James, standing and walking closer. “He’s—”  
  
Remus met Sirius’s eyes. “I’m still alive.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Of all the stars I admired, drenched  
in various rivers and mists,  
I chose only the one I love.  
Since then I sleep with the night. 
> 
> Of all the waves, one wave and another wave,  
green sea, green chill, branchings of green,  
I chose only the one wave,  
the indivisible wave of your body. 
> 
> All the waterdrops, all the roots,  
all the threads of light gathered to me here;  
they came to me sooner or later. 
> 
> I wanted your hair, all for myself.  
From all the graces my homeland offered  
I chose only your savage heart.”
> 
> —Pablo Neruda, ‘Sonnet XLVI’


	10. Chapter 10

Sirius clenched his hands and drew them away. Remus remembered those hands on every part of his body. They’d been there to pull him into an embrace, stroke his hair, and clasp his own hands in warmth and comfort. They weren’t young and smooth anymore, but they’d felt just as good against his skin. Looking at them now, Remus understood how much he’d relied on Sirius’s touch.  
  
Lily cleared her throat. “Why don’t the two of you have a talk in the guest room?”  
  
“But Lily, shouldn’t I—?” James began, but stopped when she caught his eye.   
  
“All right,” said Sirius, without taking his eyes off Remus. “Moony?”  
  
“Right then.”  
  
They both moved towards the hallway, and would have brushed through each other if Sirius hadn’t jolted back.   
  
“Sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the rug. “After you.”  
  
They walked upstairs past crookedly hung photographs, a mix of Muggle and Wizarding ones, and an awful watercolour Lily had bought at a market. Remus glanced back at Sirius, unwilling to let him out of sight, but Sirius’s eyes were on his feet.   
  
When they reached the upstairs hallway, Remus hurried to the guest room, finding it as unchanged as the rest of the house. Two single beds, with patchwork quilts stitched by Lily’s mum, and a wardrobe of cheap wood-veneer in the corner. One of the beds was unmade, and Sirius sank down onto it. Remus sat facing him, on the edge of the other bed: the one they’d never used. The beds were narrow, but that had never mattered to Remus; not when he’d wanted, always, to be as close to Sirius as possible.  
  
“Remember the last time we…I mean, the last time I came here?” Remus asked. “You burnt a cigarette hole in the quilt and we didn’t have time to fix it.”  
  
“I don’t need to remember,” Sirius replied, shrugging. “There’s still a hole in this quilt.”  
  
After a long silence of Sirius staring at his hands, Remus swallowed and said, “You still have that cut.”  
  
“What cut?”  
  
“The one on your jaw, from when you were shaving. One of the last times I saw you…I remember it very well. You cut yourself and I wiped the blood away, and then you…”  
  
Remus’s throat had closed up, and his eyes burned. Sirius knelt on the floor in front of him, soothing him with quiet words. “Please don’t cry, Moony. I’m not angry. I’m glad you came here, really. Of course I’m glad.”  
  
“I’m—” Remus sniffed, wiping his eyes and staring his wet fingers “—I’m crying? I can’t remember the last time. The first war?”   
  
“No,” Sirius murmured, reaching up as though to touch Remus’s cheek. “Sometimes, you cried in your sleep.”  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
“I didn’t want you to know I was staying up all night. You kept telling me to get more rest.”  
  
Remus frowned, remembering how exhausted they’d both been. He’d always fallen asleep immediately after sex, whether he’d wanted to or not, just grateful for the warmth and weight of Sirius in his arms after so many years.   
  
“You watched over me every night I spent at Grimmauld Place?”  
  
Sirius tilted his head, letting his hair slip past his ear to hide his face. “Well, not every night. But most, yes.”  
  
“Sirius—”  
  
“Don’t tell me it was irresponsible,” Sirius growled, going back to sit on his bed. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime…or more than a lifetime, as it turns out.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to scold you. Actually, quite the opposite.”  
  
“Oh,” Sirius mumbled, blushing. “I suppose I just—this is all a bit much. You being alive and everything. I imagined so many ways I might see you again, but never this. How did you…?”  
  
Remus searched for a way to begin. He’d spoken to Moody easily enough, but this felt different; he wanted to tell the whole story, to explain everything that had happened after Sirius’s death, and everything he’d felt. But his grief seemed odd, with Sirius sitting in front of him. All the imaginary conversations he’d held with Sirius, as well as the letters and photograph he’d kept: they’d been necessary, at the time, but now they seemed silly and sad. There was also the matter of Tonks and the question of whether Sirius knew, and Remus realised he’d have get it out of the way.  
  
“I’ll tell you everything in a moment, but first…well, there’s something you may have heard about already, but I thought, before anything else, that I should—”  
  
Sirius froze, his eyes on the ground. “It’s all right. I’ve known since Dumbledore paid us a visit. I was surprised at first, of course. I knew she fancied you, but you always seemed a bit…amused by it,” he said, then paused, frowning. “Or, I thought you were, but it doesn’t matter. She’s wonderful, really. I can’t hold it against her.”  
  
Remus smiled, overwhelmed by fondness and exasperation. “Do you really need me to tell you how much I love you?”  
  
Sirius stared up at him. “No, I suppose not,” he said, after a moment. “I love you, too. And I meant every word about Tonks. She’s…she’s young, and she’s a little bit…awkward, but she’s—”  
  
“Honestly, you don’t need to explain yourself. I know it must have been difficult for you, hearing about me with someone else. If our positions had been reversed, I would have felt the same way.”  
  
Out of the blue, Remus remembered a night in 1981, when he’d come home early from a mission and walked in on Sirius with another man. Forgetting how to Apparate, Remus had run out of their flat without taking his things. Though Sirius had sent a letter, they hadn’t spoken again for thirteen years.   
  
Remus didn’t bring it up, but Sirius seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “All right,” he said, shifting with discomfort. “Fair enough.”  
  
“In any case, she left me a few months ago, and I’ve been on my own since then.”  
  
Sirius’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed, as though his hackles were raised. “She hurt you?”  
  
Remus shook his head. “No…well, yes, but it wasn’t like that. We’d kept each other sane during the war, and we were in love, but we wanted different things.”  
  
Sirius nodded, but didn’t say anything. After a moment, he got to his feet and walked over to the window. He rested his hand against the glass, staring out at James and Lily’s summer afternoon. The posture was familiar to Remus: ever since Azkaban, Sirius had gravitated towards windows, especially while they’d stayed at Grimmauld Place. The street outside had been bleak and dingy, strewn with Muggle rubbish, but Remus had often needed to pry Sirius away from the view, with gentle hands tugging at his arms and waist, and kisses to the back of his neck. They hadn’t discussed it, but Remus assumed there’d been no windows in Azkaban: just the sound of the ocean through the walls.  
  
“Tell me about your journey, then,” said Sirius, still gazing out the window.  
  
Remus wanted to walk over and slide his arm around Sirius’s waist, feeling warmth and the steady pounding of a heartbeat. He wanted to guide Sirius back to lie on one of the beds with him, as he would have done at Grimmauld Place. But he didn’t know how to express this, and he didn’t want to ask Sirius to turn around, so he stayed sitting and spoke to Sirius’s back.  
  
“Well, it began with my search for Harry’s engagement gift…”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
By the time Remus reached the part about Cerberus, Sirius was sitting beside him on the bed, tense with excitement. Remus, on the other hand, had grown irritated by Sirius’s constant interruptions. He’d forgotten how overenthusiastic Sirius could be; how much like Padfoot in a playful mood.  
  
“Cerberus, that three-headed dog?” Sirius was asking. “The one guarding the gates? Did you have to cut its heads off, and did it grow two more each time?”  
  
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “No, that’s the seven-headed hydra, and no, I didn’t cut Cerberus’s heads off. Actually, it turns out he’s doing quite poorly; he never made an appearance. Sirius, I’m exhausted. Will you just let me finish the story so I can have something to eat and a lie down?”  
  
Sirius grinned. “Cerberus, doing poorly? That great three-headed dog?”  
  
There was a knock at the door, and Remus recognised it as James’s: three sharp raps, followed by a quieter tap.  
  
“Just, erm…just wondering if the two of you are all right in there,” he called, in a hesitating voice. “Obviously you can’t kill each other, or…anyway, would you like to come out and have some tea?”   
  
“Moony’s knackered,” Sirius called back, with a wink at Remus. “But we’ve still got a lot to talk about.”  
  
“Have you finished telling him about—_ow_, Lily. Bugger it, don’t elbow me like that!”  
  
Remus winced in sympathy. “It’s odd that you still feel pain,” he whispered.  
  
“No pleasure without a bit of pain, you know that,” Sirius whispered back; then, in a louder voice, directed at the door, “Poor little Jimmy, did she make you cry?”  
  
“Shut it, Black.”  
  
“I see some things are the same as ever,” said Remus.  
  
“Right then, carry on!” Lily called. “We’ll be out in the garden.”  
  
Remus waited a reasonable time for James and Lily to leave, then asked, “What is it, Padfoot? James was telling me, before, that something wasn’t right with you. Why don’t you tell me about it?”  
  
Sirius shrugged and turned away, plucking at the quilt. “It’s…it’s better that I don’t. You’ll be leaving soon, to finish with this prophecy.”  
  
“I can stay for a long time. More than a year.”  
  
“I don’t think I could go even a month with you here, when I can’t touch you. Could you?”  
  
Remus thought about it. “Perhaps not, but surely…surely a week? You can show me everything you’ve seen since coming here; it must be so beautiful.”  
  
“It isn’t, really.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“I wanted to _live_. That’s all I wanted.”  
  
“But Lily said—”  
  
“It’s different for her and James.”  
  
“How is it different? You’ve got to tell me.”  
  
Sirius looked at him for a few moments, worrying his lower lip. Then, finally, he nodded and took a deep breath. “The thing is, I fell through the veil, and I’m not completely…well, my body is gone, obviously. I’m dead. But it’s different for me. I still feel the magic, crackling inside me, the way it always has.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Everyone can do a kind of magic here. They can shape their heaven, and move around in it, however they like. But that isn’t really magic; it’s just wish-fulfilment, instant and without effort. James can make himself look like a deer, but he can’t become Prongs, not anymore. With me, it’s different. I can turn into Padfoot, the same as ever.”  
  
“But Sirius…” Remus wanted to tread carefully, but there was no easy way to say what he needed to say. “How do you know what you’re experiencing…how do you know that _that_ isn’t a kind of wish-fulfilment? How do you know it isn’t all coming from your desire to feel alive?”  
  
“Oh, I thought of that. I thought about it for months, before I found a solution. I went in search of others who’d fallen through the veil.” Sirius’s face darkened. “And what I found…well, it was enough to convince me. There were three men, two women, four house-elves and ten goblins, who’d all been thrown through the veil at various points in history, as a kind of punishment by whatever cruel regime was in power. I’m sure there are others, but I stopped looking.”  
  
“My God.”  
  
“Yes.” Sirius’s hands were clenched over his knees, and his whole body had tensed. “I didn’t want to tell you, Moony, but…you’re right, you should know. They were all quite mad. They were all in their own private hells. But they were _here_, in heaven, with me.”  
  
Remus wanted to hold Sirius so much that it actually hurt, and he dug his fingers into his palms. When James had said there was something wrong, but Sirius was safe, Remus had been overcome with relief. Now, after hearing the truth, he was furious with James for reassuring him.  
  
He swallowed and shook his head, wanting to deny it. “Please...tell me this won’t happen to you.”  
  
“Not for a few hundred years, maybe,” Sirius replied, with a bitter smile. “But it will happen. Nothing can prevent it. My mind and my magic are still alive, while my body is dead. It would be enough to drive anyone mad.”  
  
“But it won’t be long until I die, and with me here—”  
  
“You coming here won’t make a difference. Don’t look at me like that, Moony. Of course I love you, and I’ll be happy when I can touch you again, but you’ll be the same as James and Lily. Perfectly content for all eternity, and perfectly unable to comprehend the horror I’m facing. You’ll make me play croquet and chess, and you’ll take tea with me, and we’ll have sex, but in the end, it won’t be living. You’ll continue on, while I pace like an animal in a trap, until I lie down and hope for oblivion. It’ll be heaven to you, but to me it’s just another prison.”  
  
“Sirius, I won’t—”  
  
“That’s why I reacted the way I did, to seeing you again. I’m grateful you’re still alive, so we can talk like this. But it’s painful to see you one last time, still full of hope for the future, and not be able to touch you. There’s no future here, no past, and no present. You see that, don’t you?”  
  
Remus’s breathing came in shudders and gasps, and his eyes prickled, but he couldn’t cry. His face was numb and his lips were bloodless, and his hands shook in his lap.   
  
“I won’t let this happen to you,” he said, when he could speak again. “I’ll do anything. You know I’ll do anything.”  
  
“I already did. I begged to be let out of heaven, but there was no response. I begged and prayed. Finally, I had an idea. I followed the River Lethe, the river of forgetting, the only fixed thing in this place, until I’d walked out. No one’s ever done it before…no one’s ever even _thought_ of it before, as far as I know. But I did it, and escaped.”   
  
“You…you broke out of heaven?”  
  
“That’s right. I journeyed through the garden, the fields and the woods, not knowing where I was going but following a path. I walked all the way to the courthouse where I was first sent for judgement. I pounded on the door and called to the judge, and he let me in. He looked just like Bartemius Crouch. I told him he should send me home, where I was needed. He said he’d never seen anything like it. He told me to go back to where I was meant to be. I said I was meant to be alive. I was bloody well meant to be _alive—_”  
  
Sirius was standing now, and pacing the room. He was holding his fists up, as though ready for a fight, and his mouth was set in a scowl.  
  
“Why wouldn’t he let me go? I was furious. My magic had been bottled up for such a long time, and I was like a child without control. I tore his courtroom apart; it looked like a hurricane had blown through. He was angry, then. He was more powerful than me, and sent me back.” Sirius stopped moving, his voice growing thin and full of despair. “And so I’m here. There’s no way for me to get out.”  
  
Remus stood and swayed on his feet, so dizzy with exhaustion that his vision blacked out for a moment and his ears hummed. He’d been tired before, but now he was completely wrung out. He couldn’t think, he didn’t know what he was doing, and he only wanted to touch Sirius and fall asleep in his arms. He reached out to steady himself against the wardrobe, but he still couldn’t stop shaking.   
  
“I’ll take you out of here,” he said, staring into Sirius’s eyes. “Whatever I have to do. I would trade places—”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I would,” Remus muttered, and then he collapsed.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
When Remus woke up, he was lying on his back in one of the beds, with the quilt pulled up to his neck. The curtains were still open, and James and Lily had made it night, with glittering stars and a harvest full moon, which seemed to hover just above the treetops. Remus stared at the moon and found himself fascinated instead of afraid.  
  
“Are you feeling better?” said Lily’s voice from beside him.  
  
“Could you get me some water, from my pack?” Remus croaked. “If you can touch it.”  
  
“I can touch it.”  
  
He guzzled two bottlefuls of water and ate a slice of pie, and then he felt more like himself. Lily lit a few candles around the room, without having to touch them or wave a wand, and then she plumped up his pillows and sat on the edge of his bed.  
  
“Where’s Sirius?”  
  
Lily hesitated, her full lips pursed, before she said, “He’s gone wandering, that’s all.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Probably to the River Lethe,” she admitted. “He likes to sit on its banks and watch as people wade into it.”  
  
“Lethe...the river of forgetting,” Remus whispered, then started to climb out of bed. “Oh Merlin, do you think he’s going to—?”   
  
“No, no,” she insisted, gesturing for him to lie back down. “He’s had plenty of opportunities, but he won’t do it. Or, he won’t do it while you’re here.”  
  
“So he’ll do it, then? After I leave?”  
  
Lily avoided his eyes. “He’s spoken to us about it. He says it’s his only chance.”  
  
Remus closed his eyes and wondered if the situation could get any worse. The River Lethe would wipe Sirius clean of memory and emotion, and his spirit would be born again as an entirely new person. Sirius would be gone forever. It wouldn’t be as bad as losing him to a Dementor’s Kiss, something Remus had feared and dreaded to the point of lying to Dumbledore; however, it would be a permanent loss, and the end of all hope.   
  
“What about James?” Remus asked, not wanting to think about it. “Where is he?”  
  
“He thought I should have a talk with you, because…well, he feels uncomfortable, about certain things.”  
  
Remus bit his lip, nodding. “Yes. I’m sure he does. Lily, how long have the two of you known about me and Sirius?”  
  
“Since we were at Hogwarts. I’m not sure which of us knew first. James says he knew from the start.”  
  
“I very much doubt that.”  
  
“Well, you were all sharing a room. He didn’t need a lot of intuition to understand what was going on. He just felt awkward about it, so he ignored it and pretended it wasn’t happening.”  
  
“What about you?”  
  
Lily blushed. “I snuck out one night, for a walk by the lake, to clear my head—I was so worried about all my homework. And, well, I saw the two of you, by the tree…”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I ran back to my room, terrified you’d seen me. I’d always been told it was a mental illness, so I didn’t know what to think. I wondered whether I should tell McGonagall—I thought she might help you become normal. But then I watched you at mealtimes and in class, and soon I realised you were in love. When I knew it was love, it didn’t bother me. Sirius was gentle with you, different from the way he was with everyone else; and when he was with you, you seemed lit up inside. You made each other beautiful.”  
  
Lily was smiling, but Remus thought he might start crying again. “I’ve lost him. What am I going to do?”  
  
“You haven’t lost him yet. What about this prophecy? He told me about it, as though it had nothing to do with him. But I’m sure it must. Why else would you have been chosen to come here?”  
  
“How can it have anything to do with him?”  
  
“_Two valued brothers have been lost_…what about that? What about Regulus?”  
  
“No, Lily. It’s not possible. I saw Regulus, in the forest of mourning.”   
  
“Then someone else. Some other brother of his.”  
  
“James is his only other brother.”  
  
“What about…” she lowered her voice “…what about Peter?”  
  
“He was no one’s brother.”  
  
“A brother can be a traitor, like Judas was to Jesus.”  
  
Remus nodded. “I hope you’re right. I’ll speak to Dumbledore about it, and I’ll take Sirius with me, if I can find him. How do I get to the Lethe?”  
  
“I’ll wish you there. Close your eyes.”  
  
He wanted to say goodbye, to her and James, because he wasn’t sure he’d have the chance to come back. But when he opened his mouth, she shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. She was so lovely in the candlelight, with her smooth, freckled skin and flame-red hair. Remus wished he could take a picture back for Harry.  
  
“Close your eyes,” she repeated, leaning closer. “You’ll see us again. We’ll all be together again. You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And all that I’ve got  
And all that I need  
I tie in a knot  
And I lay at your feet  
And I have not forgot  
But a silence crept over me”
> 
> —Joanna Newsom, ‘Sadie’


	11. Chapter 11

The Lethe was just a river, with overhanging trees and darting insects, and water that ran, slow and clear, over smooth dark stones. A man and woman were embracing on the rocky bank, holding each other and speaking in whispers, dressed in the white-powdered wigs and gold-edged finery of seventeenth-century French courtiers. Further down, a group of children were skimming stones across a deeper, quieter part of the river, and Remus wondered if they’d been taught by Charon.   
  
Then he noticed Sirius, who was leaning up against a pale eucalyptus tree, his face turned towards the children. Remus picked up his pack and walked over, stumbling on tree roots and moss-covered rocks. He’d just opened his mouth to speak when Sirius beat him to it. “What did Lily tell you?”   
  
“That you’re about ready to give up.”  
  
Sirius shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. There’s nothing to give up.”  
  
“There’s everything.”  
  
“We lost everything years ago.”  
  
“That’s not true. We still exist, and we’re still sane. That’s something. Besides, we’ve always come through together.”  
  
“We’ve just postponed the inevitable.”  
  
Remus was already starting to shake with anger, a reaction only Sirius could provoke. If they’d been able to touch, he would have grabbed Sirius by the collar, pinned him back against the tree and bruised him with a kiss.   
  
“Sirius, you’re not wading into that river.”   
  
Sirius scowled, turning his attention back to the children. One of their mothers had appeared: a Native American woman with bright beads and long black braids, who was scolding them about playing near the Lethe.  
  
“Why is she speaking English?” Remus wondered.  
  
“She’s not. Everyone speaks the same language, here.”  
  
“How is that possible? What about concepts that don’t translate?”  
  
Sirius folded his arms, prodding a loose stone with his foot. “This is heaven. Everything translates, and almost anything is possible. Even living again—” he gestured to the Lethe. “All I need to do is walk into it. Apparently there’s a purification process, which doesn’t sound too charming. But after that, I’d be a newborn baby. Maybe I’d have better luck, next time around.”  
  
“You’ll never find out, because you’re _not_ going in the Lethe.”  
  
“You’re such a stubborn git. What are you going to do about it?”  
  
Remus, fuming, picked up a stone and hurled it into the river. It didn’t splash or even ripple, which only increased his frustration. “What would I say to Harry?” he asked, turning on Sirius. He got as close as he could, speaking right up against Sirius’s face. “Have you thought about that?”  
  
“Harry has James and Lily; and you, for that matter. He’d get over it.”  
  
“He’d never forgive you. _I’d _never forgive you.”  
  
“I’d never know. I wouldn’t care.”  
  
Remus sat down on a large, flat rock and wondered what would happen if he walked into the river himself. He stared down at his knees, covered by his robe, and thought of how Sirius had kissed them once, one after the other, and said how they were the best knees in the world and Remus was a wanker for always saying how bony and skinny they were.

After a while, Sirius sat next to him. “I can’t imagine not caring about you,” he said, quietly. “I’ve never been in love with anyone else.”  
  
Remus still couldn’t look at him. “I know.”  
  
“I was unfaithful when we were young, but not because I was bored, or sick of you, or didn’t love you. When you were away on missions, I thought about you all the bloody time. I’d wake up thinking of you, and go to bed thinking of you, and make two cups of tea, and turn the shower to the temperature you liked, waiting for you to get in. I started carrying pictures of you. I kept a stack beside our bed to look at before I went to sleep.”  
  
“I know. I cleaned out our flat.”  
  
“What did you do with them?”  
  
“Burned them, of course.” Remus remembered the curls of smoke and the smell of it, and the thin burn across his index finger he’d forgotten to heal until the next day. “I kept one, and carried it everywhere with me. Now I keep it in my sock drawer. I haven’t taken it out in months. I was afraid I’d forget your face, but I never did. I had the opposite problem, actually. I saw you everywhere.”  
  
Sirius reached over to give Remus’s knee a comforting squeeze, but then he remembered and his hand curled up like a frightened spider. He rested it on the rock between them, and Remus stared at it: the whorls and lines of Sirius’s knuckles, his unevenly bitten fingernails, and the two chocolate-brown freckles above his wrist.   
  
“I want to tell you what happened, in 1981,” said Sirius. “Do you want to hear it?”  
  
Remus swallowed. “All right.”  
  
“I went to clubs a lot, just for something to do. I hardly had the chance to see Prongs and the old ball-and-chain. It was just me and the rat, and we didn’t have that much to talk about; we sat around listening to records and watching Quidditch, stoned out of our minds. So, I went clubbing alone and came home alone. I didn’t touch anyone except to dance and snog a bit. Then, one night, I met someone who looked like you. I took him home with me, and pretended he was you, every time. He was practically living with me, in our flat. It was just enough to get me by. Fuck, I was a selfish bastard. Love is insane, isn’t it? I’ve never worked out why you fell in love with me.”  
  
Remus smiled and shrugged. “You gave me a ride on your flying motorbike.”  
  
It wasn’t that funny, but when their eyes met they burst out laughing. Sirius threw his head back, his laugh like the sharp, happy bark of a dog, while Remus doubled over, chuckling. By the time they were done, their cheeks were streaked with tears.  
  
Sirius wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “What happened to the bike, anyway?”  
  
“I don’t know. You gave it to Hagrid, who most likely fed it to something. You could get another one now, though, couldn’t you?”  
  
“I could wish for one out of thin air, you mean. It wouldn’t be the same. I want something to work on, some Muggle machine I can tinker with for months, without magic or anything else. Or…I don’t know, Moony. I want to develop a new spell or a new potion. I want to write a novel or start a band. I want to travel around the world. I want to run around naked in the rain. I can’t stay here; not for you, or anyone else. That’s just the way it is.”  
  
“All right, Padfoot. I understand.”  
  
Sirius stared at the river, frowning. “Look at them,” he said, gesturing to the pair of French courtiers that Remus had noticed earlier, now kissing desperately as they waded into the river. Remus watched, fascinated. In another moment, they’d disappeared as swiftly as an Apparation, their gilt-trimmed lace and ruffles gone forever.   
  
“Incredible,” Remus breathed.  
  
“I’ve spent days, maybe weeks, walking along the Lethe and asking people why they want to wade in,” said Sirius. “Most are firm believers in the sanctity of reincarnation, and think of eternal life as an abomination. But others are just seeking oblivion for whatever reason. I suppose oblivion is their heaven.”  
  
“And you? Do you want oblivion?”  
  
“No. You know that.”  
  
“What if I can get you out of here?”  
  
Sirius smiled then, but it was humourless. “Don’t give me hope. That’s the worst thing of all.”  
  
Remus didn’t know what to say to that, so he ignored it. “Look,” he said. “I still haven’t finished telling you about my journey here, but that can wait, for the moment. All you need to know is that the wizard in the prophecy is probably Dumbledore, and I think we should both pay him a visit. Lily thinks the _two valued brothers_ part might have something to do with you.”  
  
“Then she’s clutching at straws.”  
  
“Maybe so, but it’s worth a try. Otherwise, I’ll have to learn to play Orpheus’s lyre. And you know I can’t sing to save my life, let alone yours.”  
  
Remus had been hoping to coax another laugh, or at least a smile, but Sirius just gave a solemn nod and got to his feet. “Just remember that I’m only doing this for you, and I’m not making any promises,” he said, as he brushed off his robes. “I’ll lead you to Dumbledore’s house. All you need to do is follow me.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Remus had always associated Dumbledore with his Hogwarts office, a circular chamber which could only be accessed via a moving spiral staircase. It had been a true wizard’s den, fit to make Muggle jaws drop: crammed with incomprehensible silver implements, snoring portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, and a shimmering phoenix named Fawkes. Dumbledore’s home in the Underworld, on the other hand, was a simple brick cottage that resembled the one Remus had rented throughout the summer. It was surrounded by a neat garden of lawn, primroses, petunias, rhododendrons and, to make things a little more interesting, bamboo. There were no signs of magical activity: even the smoke pouring from the chimney was grey and ordinary.  
  
Sirius knocked on the door, four hard raps, and Dumbledore’s voice called, “There’s no need to knock, Sirius. Please come in and sit down.”  
  
The cottage was as plain inside as out, with plush fifties-style furniture and thick beige carpet, and it smelt faintly of lemon drops. Dumbledore was sitting in an armchair by the fire, darning a purple-and-green striped pair of socks. He was dressed in a plain black robe, and looked perhaps fifty years younger, with auburn hair and smooth, heat-flushed cheeks. Remus was oddly disappointed by the scene, until he remembered Moody’s words: _But peace was just what Albus wanted: an ordinary life, a quiet place by the fire, and maybe a pair of socks to darn._ Now that he was dead, Dumbledore could have everything he’d ever wanted; everything, that is, except an ordinary life.  
  
Dumbledore twinkled up at them, setting his socks on the arm of the chair. “Hello, Sirius. And Remus, it is simply marvellous to see you again. I didn't expect to see you alive, but you have my most hearty congratulations.”  
  
“How could you tell that I’m alive?”  
  
“There is a scent about you—a vitality that is sorely lacking from the rest of our surroundings.” Dumbledore pointed to the couch across from him. “Why don’t the two of you sit down, put your feet up, and tell me how you came to be here?”  
  
As Remus sat down, his eyes caught on a series of prints that hung on the wall above Dumbledore’s armchair. “Are those by Monet? I thought I’d seen all of his works.”  
  
“Monsieur Monet is a Squib, and an old acquaintance of mine,” Dumbledore replied. Then, with a wink, he added, “I am afraid his preoccupation with waterlilies may be an eternal affliction, but I must humour him.”  
  
Remus gazed at the paintings, wondering why the thought had never occurred to him before. Of course, all the great artists would be continuing their work – and who knew what heights of beauty they could achieve with an eternity?   
  
When Remus shot Sirius an excited glance, however, he was met with a frown of discouragement. “Don’t get all excited, Moony. There’s nothing to inspire the artists anymore. They keep going through the stuff they liked best: the songs and paintings and stories that made them happiest. There’s no progression here. No one to impress, nothing at stake, and no screaming fans. It’s all finished with. They’re all bloody has-beens.”  
  
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Though I think you are putting a rather negative spin on matters, Sirius. Artists who were driven throughout their lives can finally take a rest, and focus on what they loved the most. Art is left to the living, as all struggles must be.”  
  
Sirius scowled and picked at the sofa. “I can’t stand this place. When I first arrived, I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if I could just meet Lennon and Hendrix and the rest of them. Without those Muggle musicians to keep me sane, I would have torched Grimmauld Place when I was fourteen and gone on the run. But they were all such a disappointment; so content and settled and finished.”  
  
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “I assume Sirius has already explained his predicament?” he asked Remus.  
  
“Yes, he has.”  
  
“And have you come to ask my advice on how to be his knight in shining armour?”  
  
Remus blushed, and Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled with humour.   
  
“Actually, this all started out with a prophecy,” Remus began, and then told the story of his journey from beginning to end, mentioning even the tiniest details in case they could somehow have relevance. He remembered to include Moody’s message about Minerva, which drew a mysterious, misty-eyed smile to Dumbledore’s face. “And so, here we are,” Remus concluded. “It all boils down to the identities of the two valued brothers.”  
  
Dumbledore stroked his beard and stared into the fire. “_Two valued brothers have been lost_,” he mused. “_One roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands_.”   
  
“I’m impressed, Moony,” said Sirius, grinning. “You evaded everything from the trappings of your own subconscious mind to a deadly peanut-butter sandwich.”  
  
“It wasn’t funny at the time,” Remus muttered.   
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Well, gentlemen, I will need to give this a great deal of consideration. I have the inkling of an idea; but as always, nothing is certain. In the meantime, feel free to wander wherever you like.”  
  
Remus glanced at Sirius. “I think we’ll just stay here, if that’s all right,” he said, and both Sirius and Dumbledore nodded. “I need to get more rest, to build up my strength a little. And I suppose…well, I’m starting to think it wouldn’t be healthy, to explore heaven as a living man.”  
  
“I quite agree,” said Dumbledore. “As it happens, I have a king-sized bed in my guest room, which Gandhi found quite comfortable, if a trifle extravagant.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Later, Remus woke to the sound of rain drumming the window, and Sirius’s footsteps pacing back and forth beside the bed.   
  
“Don’t you sleep anymore, Padfoot? If your brain’s still alive, surely it needs rest.”  
  
“I sleep,” Sirius said, tersely. “But I can’t sleep right now, all right? I don’t know how you can, either.”  
  
“It’s not voluntary, I assure you,” Remus yawned, and fell asleep again.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Do you think Dumbledore was serious about Gandhi?” were the next words Remus spoke, when he was roused by Sirius flicking through one of Dumbledore’s heavy, leather-bound books on the bed beside him.  
  
“Who’s this Gandhi person?” Sirius responded. “I don’t think I ever heard of the bloke.”  
  
“Didn’t you ever pay attention in Muggle Stud—?” Remus was cut off by Dumbledore’s knock at the door.  
  
“Come in,” Sirius called, leaping to his feet and letting the book fall to the floor with a loud crack.  
  
Remus stood up too, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and sat on the end of the bed beside Sirius. Dumbledore stood in front of them, beaming. Remus allowed himself to hope for good news.  
  
“Remus, who are Sirius’s brothers?” Dumbledore asked.  
  
“Regulus and James…and perhaps…perhaps Peter? I could be too, I suppose, although it would be an awfully incestuous relationship.”  
  
“I am afraid I must respectfully disagree. As human beings, we are all brothers and sisters. We are all of the same kin. That is a truth which, for most of history, has been sadly denied or forgotten.”  
  
Sirius shook his head. “But Headmaster—I mean, Dumbledore—I don’t see how that’s relevant to me, or to any other dead man, for that matter. If we’re all brothers, then the prophecy could be speaking about anyone.”  
  
“You are forgetting that you have a quality most other men lack. You are not only a man: you are also a magical dog. And so, in a way, all magical dogs—and perhaps all dogs—are your brothers. You are of the same kin.”  
  
“Oh,” Remus gasped, understanding, although he still didn’t see how it all fit together.   
  
Sirius was shaking with excitement. “It works,” he said. “I mean, if you’re going to say what I think you’re going to say.”  
  
“There is a slim possibility that I am mistaken, but I am fairly certain the prophecy is referring to a creature I purchased, with Hagrid’s aid, to guard the Philosopher’s Stone at Hogwarts in the early 1990s. Hagrid named the creature Fluffy; but of course, I knew its true name was Cerberus. After all, as far as I’m aware, there is only one gigantic, three-headed dog in existence.”  
  
“But what about _the darkest region under daylight_?” Remus asked.  
  
“Why, the Forbidden Forest, of course. I asked Hagrid to release Cerberus there, after I had disposed of the Stone. I must admit, at the time I had an inkling that Cerberus might prove useful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have said this earlier, but better late than never. Many of my ideas about Dumbledore were inspired by an essay I read at the HP Lexicon: Diersling, Sandra L. ‘Thoughts on Socks’ (2003) at http://www.hp-lexicon.org/essays/essay-socks-sandra.html
> 
> My information about Fluffy/Cerberus comes from Wikipedia, which cites a J.K. Rowling interview: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rubeus_Hagrid#Fluffy


	12. Chapter 12

“But this isn’t Pluto’s palace,” said Remus, staring at the building in front of him.  
  
Instead of the shimmering gold he remembered, there were brown bricks and glass windows, and an ivy creeper growing up one side. The roof was tiled and ordinary, with chimneys rather than turrets; really, it was more of a mansion than a palace. Everything gave the impression of a pleasant English spring day: the sky was mild and cloudless, and the vast garden consisted of lawns, white-gravel walkways, box hedges and roses. Remus thought it was all quite disappointing, and he could tell Sirius felt the same.  
  
“I assure you, this is the palace,” Dumbledore replied, with a twinkle in his eye. “You saw it from outside Elysium, where it was shaped by your own mind. From inside Elysium, the palace is shaped by the desires of its inhabitants. This is where Pluto and Proserpine choose to live; at least, for the moment.”  
  
“Honestly, how do you know these things?” Sirius asked, as the three of them approached the mansion’s entrance, shoes crunching on the gravel path. “Come on, Professor, you can tell us. After all, I’m dead, and Remus is a vault for secrets.”  
  
Dumbledore just smiled and pressed the doorbell.  
  
“All the modern conveniences,” Remus muttered, astonished. “When Sybill told me they’d gone vegetarian, I suppose I only half-believed her.”  
  
The door was opened by a butler, who was the epitome of every butler Remus had ever seen in Western Muggle culture: black suit with coat-tails, white shirt, bow-tie, neat brown hair, and a long middle-aged face with a stiff upper-lip.  
  
“Are you Pluto?” Sirius blurted, surprised. Remus realised he’d probably never seen a butler before.  
  
“I am the butler, sir,” said the butler, with a completely neutral expression. “I serve my master and mistress by managing their household.”  
  
“Don’t they have any house-elves?” Sirius whispered to Remus, who would have elbowed him or stepped on his foot, if they’d been able to touch. He had to settle for a sharp look.  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “With the greatest respect,” he said, “we wish to meet with the supreme lord of this domain, King Pluto.”  
  
“Very well, sir. Shall I take your coat?”  
  
“That’s all right, we don’t have any coats,” said Sirius, bemused.  
  
They followed the butler to the sitting room, where Remus and Sirius perched uncomfortably on a velvet chaise-longe, while Dumbledore sank into an armchair and put his feet on an ottoman. The room was done up in royal blue, with Victorian-era wallpaper of silver leaves entwined with faded roses.  
  
“Please help yourselves to sherry, brandy, tea and coffee,” said the butler, before giving a brief bow and walking out.  
  
Sirius frowned. “Well, that was odd.”  
  
“The butler must be some kind of automaton,” Remus mused. “Surely there are no real servants in Elysium?”  
  
“It is impossible to tell,” said Dumbledore, peering at them over his glasses. “Perhaps there was a man who, all his life, longed to spend eternity as a butler.”  
  
Remus was about to say more, when he heard heavy footsteps approaching the door.  
  
“Pluto,” he whispered, and the three men got to their feet.  
  
Remus tried not to gawp as Pluto strode into the room. He was blonde, chiselled and built like a bear, with the physique of a classical marble statue. In a warrior’s armour he would have been as formidable as Achilles or Hercules, but he wasn’t dressed as a warrior: he was wearing tennis whites and trainers, and holding a racquet instead of a spear.   
  
“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin and Mr. Dumbledore,” he boomed, as he reached out his massive right hand to shake each of theirs. “I enjoy a spot of tennis on occasion – highly invigorating. My wife prefers yoga, but I’ve always found it rather silly. Lots of nonsense about energy flow. Women, eh?” He roared with laughter. “Come, sit down, and I’ll call our maid to fetch whatever you desire.”  
  
“All that we desire is an audience with you, your majesty,” said Dumbledore, quite unruffled. “We have business of a most urgent and serious nature to discuss.”  
  
“Very well,” said Pluto, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically as he sat on an armchair. “I assume this has something to do with your prophecy, Mr. Lupin. Minos told me you’d be dropping by for a chat. Take a seat, and let’s hear it.”  
  
“I assume you are aware of Mr. Black’s situation?” Dumbledore asked, when they were all settled.  
  
“Of course! I heard about it from Minos, the poor chap,” said Pluto, giving Sirius a patronising grin and a shake of his head. Sirius bristled. “Oh, come now, don’t take offence. You put on quite a show, and your ingenuity was astounding. For a moment I was tempted to intervene, but rules are rules, eh? Can’t let someone out without every man and his dog having a go—no pun intended, of course.” Again, he gave a loud, hearty laugh, but then his face fell. “Our security measures have to be especially rigid, you see, due to the troubles we’ve had.”  
  
“What troubles are those?” Remus asked.   
  
“Well…” Pluto cleared his throat. For a moment his jovial façade dropped away, revealing the defensiveness and sorrow beneath. “Let’s not speak of troubles!” he declared, recovering. “Why not fill these halls with wine, women and song?”  
  
“We’ve come to make a deal with you, your majesty,” said Sirius, in a firm, commanding tone. “We’ve no time for wine, women or song.”  
  
Remus smiled to himself, and hid it with a cough. _This_ was the Sirius he’d come for: the Sirius who would stand up to the gods themselves, when he thought they were being unreasonable.   
  
Pluto was clearly taken aback, and his smile turned calculating. “So, you haven’t come to make a request. You’ve come to bargain. Well, in that case—”  
  
He broke off when a woman stumbled into the room. Barefoot and bedraggled, with mussed blonde hair and smudged mascara, she was dressed in an evening gown that had slipped off one shoulder. Remus and Sirius gaped at her, while Dumbledore averted his eyes with gentlemanly haste.  
  
“Daaarhling,” she slurred, draping herself onto one of Pluto’s broad shoulders. “I am bored, bored, boooooored to death. Shall we play a game of whist?”   
  
“Perhaps later, darling,” Pluto growled, trying to extract himself. “As you can see, I have guests.”  
  
“Oh, hellooo,” said Proserpine, trying to straighten herself. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at an innopper…inopp…inconvenient time. I was wandering in my garden—wanting for company and anything better to do, you see—and I’m afraid I had a tad too much to drink.”  
  
“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, his eyes still averted. “Your highness, we would not be offended in the slightest if you chose to take your leave, in order to have a tall glass of water and a lie down.”  
  
“That sounds splendid, really,” Proserpine sighed. “Cheers.” She curtsied and then swayed out of the room, giggling when she almost tripped in the doorway.  
  
“She is…oh, it is _impossible _to make her happy,” said Pluto, putting his face in his hands. “I transform our palace and appearances into shape after shape, but I must face the truth—nothing here satisfies her. We’ve lived in every kind of magnificent dwelling, played every game and feasted on every cuisine, but to no avail. I thought the simple life of the English countryside might suit her, but she’s only happy when she returns to the world of daylight, for six months of every year, to vacation with her mother.” He rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Oh, but it’s just one of the many troubles. Nothing is right. Everything has been thrown off balance. If anyone found out, you see, that—”  
  
“That what?” Sirius asked. “That Cerberus is gone?”  
  
“Precisely,” Pluto muttered; then, straightening and staring at Sirius, “_Precisely._ How did you know about Cerberus?”  
  
“We know where Cerberus is, but we can’t tell you anything further until we’ve discussed our proposal,” said Remus, carefully. “It concerns the prophecy you mentioned earlier. Did Minos tell you the details?”  
  
“Yes, of course, the prophecy,” said Pluto, flustered. “_Two valued brothers have been lost; one roams the darkest region under daylight, while the other dwells in sunless lands. Only the wolf desires to follow the path of ancient heroes into darkness. He must seek the wizard who surpassed all others but could not fulfil his greatest wish. Together, they can petition the King to restore order_.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Ah, I see. The wizard is Mr. Dumbledore, and the _two valued brothers_ are Mr. Black and Cerberus. But the darkest region under daylight?”  
  
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “I am afraid, your majesty, that we cannot tell you where Cerberus is until—”  
  
“It doesn’t matter whether you tell me or not,” Pluto cut in, agitated. Abruptly, he got to his feet and walked over to a side table, where he poured a glass of sherry and downed it in one gulp. “I can’t access Cerberus, wherever he is. I used to be able to make trips into the world of daylight. In fact, that’s how I met my wife—but those days are long over. We gods and goddesses must stick to our own realms, because our relationships are too fraught with chaos. So, say whatever you like about Cerberus.”  
  
“But Proserpine can access the daylight world,” said Remus. “As can Minos and his brothers, I’m sure.”   
  
“Look,” said Sirius. “We won’t tell you where Cerberus is until you hear us out.”  
  
“I already know what you want me to do. But do you honestly think it’s right? To grant a man life, though it’s been rightfully taken?”  
  
“I don’t know about ‘rightfully’,” Sirius muttered.  
  
“You have done it before,” said Dumbledore, reasonably. “And in this case, I assume you have much more at stake. I am not aware of the particulars, however. When Cerberus came into my possession, I was under the impression he had been missing for some time, and you had found a replacement.”  
  
Pluto shook his head, taking the entire bottle of sherry with him as he came to sit back down. “Cerberus can’t be replaced,” he said. “He’s as much a part of the Underworld as Elysium itself. He frightens the living from attempting entry, but that isn’t his main role. Cerberus prevents the shades from making their way back to daylight, where they would inhabit whatever was left of their carcasses and rise from the earth.”  
  
“Couldn’t Charon refuse to row them across the river?” Remus asked.  
  
Pluto took a swig from the sherry bottle. “Charon can be summoned by the living, the dead or the immortal…by anyone, in other words. He’s a ferryman, not a guardian. I can’t rely on him to stand in the way of a revolt; actually, there’s no other creature I can entrust with the task. Only Cerberus can draw the shades back into my kingdom. He’s not just a three-headed dog: he’s gateway, as well as a guardian.”  
  
“You speak of him with affection,” Dumbledore observed.  
  
Pluto nodded, taking another swig. “He’s a beloved pet. He’s especially dear to my wife, who dotes on him and spends hours playing games with him. Ever since he disappeared, she’s been hounding me to find him. She doesn’t understand why I can’t snap my fingers and make him appear. You can’t imagine how much strife that dog’s cost me.”  
  
“So you’ll make the trade, then?” Sirius pressed, leaning forward. “Me for Cerberus?”   
  
“I suppose it’s only fair,” said Pluto, with a shrug. “A dog for a dog. The truth is, I know you’re good men. You wouldn’t really risk the destruction of the daylight world. Even if I refused to help you, you’d probably end up giving me Cerberus.”  
  
Reluctantly, they all nodded.  
  
“Think of this as a thank you, then, for saving me from a sticky situation. Of course, there’s one condition. I won’t risk sending one of my men on a fool’s errand. Mr. Lupin must fetch Cerberus for me, and deliver him to the Underworld’s entrance in England. I’m certain he’s perfectly capable. Aren’t you, old chap?”  
  
Remus glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.   
  
“All right,” said Remus.  
  
Sirius was shaking his head, alarmed. “Moony—”  
  
“It’s all right, Padfoot. I’ll charm Cerberus with music.”  
  
“You can’t play anything, and you can’t carry a tune!”  
  
“I’ll find someone who can play music, then.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
Remus thought about it, going through everyone he knew. Not Minerva, though he imagined her playing the bagpipes. Not Harry, Ron, Hermione or Ginny. Tonks had a lovely singing voice, but she was still in Romania. None of the other Weasleys played any instruments, did they? What about Harry’s other friends from school? Dean, Seamus, the Patil twins, Luna Lovegood…then, finally, Remus hit on it.  
  
“Parvati Patil plays the violin,” he said.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Oh, she was one of my students at Hogwarts. She ended up fighting under my command during the war.”  
  
Sirius’s eyes brightened. “You commanded people during the war? That’s brilliant, Moony. Were you very strict? Did you have to yell at people a lot?”  
  
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” Pluto cut in, “but would you mind hurrying things along? I _can_ wait here for an eternity, but I’d rather not.”  
  
“I quite agree,” said Dumbledore. “I have some urgent business to attend to with a cup of tea and a pair of socks.”  
  
“All right,” said Sirius, but he didn’t stop staring at Remus.  
  
Remus tried to memorise Sirius in a way he’d never been able to do, all of the other times they’d lost each other. Sirius’s hair, that still looked silky despite its split ends and ragged cut, and Sirius’s grey eyes with crow’s feet at each corner, and Sirius’s mouth that was still full and pink when it wasn’t tightened with anger or sadness.   
  
“Don’t wade into the Lethe,” Remus said, finally. “Whatever happens, wait for me.”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
“If it comes to it, I’ll wade in with you.”  
  
Sirius looked like he wanted to say more, but Pluto rubbed his hands together and stood up. “Right then, Mr. Lupin. I’ll send you back to England. Any destination in mind?”  
  
“Diagon Alley,” Remus replied, getting to his feet. “But what about the Gates of Horn and Ivory? Don’t I need to exit through there?”  
  
“Not if you’ve got me to help you,” said Pluto, reaching out to clasp Remus by the shoulders. “I can banish the living from my kingdom. Just close your eyes.”  
  
“Wait a moment,” said Remus, turning to look at Dumbledore. “I need to thank—”  
  
“There is no need for that,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I only hope that you and Sirius drop in for afternoon tea every now and again, when you finally join me here.”  
  
“That goes without saying,” said Remus. Then he turned to Sirius.  
  
Neither of them said what they wanted to say, not in front of Dumbledore and Pluto, but Remus heard it anyway. He hoped Sirius did, too.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It was raining in Diagon Alley, and the air smelled of rotting autumn leaves and roast pumpkin. Remus took deep breaths, sending puffs of steam into the night air as he revelled in the vitality of the living world. The streetlights were on, but that was all. The sky was black with clouds and hazy with the reflection of London’s electricity.   
  
A glance at the clock tower above Madame Malkin’s told Remus it was ‘quarter past the witching hour’, or fifteen minutes past midnight. It suddenly struck him how foolish he’d been: what if he’d been sent back on a full moon night? He shook his head at himself as he hurried down the street, huddling in his robes and realising he’d forgotten to bring his backpack.  
  
He’d visited Luna once before, when lending her a book about Australian bunyips, and he searched his memory for her address as he reached the rickety block of flats between the junk shop and second-hand bookshop. While he climbed the stairs, which stank of boiled rhubarb and mouldy potions, he remembered that her door was down the end of a corridor on the fourth floor, and the number had been nailed upside-down.  
  
It didn’t take long for him to find it: the silver ‘42’ was the right way up, but backwards, and there was a pink note pinned above. It read, in curly green script, _Do Not Disturb Unless Life or Death Situation (or you’re looking for a job at _The Quibbler_, in which case leave your Floo address and the mandatory jar of peanut butter)._  
  
Luna answered the door in a red silk camisole and cowboy boots. Her necklace of butter-beer corks was tangled in her hair, but she seemed perfectly composed.   
  
Remus just stared for a moment, flustered.  
  
“Good morning, Professor Lupin. It’s good to see you. Harry told us you’d done a very silly thing and might never return.”  
  
“I…er…this is probably a bad time, but…”   
  
He heard Parvati’s voice calling, “It’s not another applicant, is it? Tell them to sod off, Loony. There’s a time and a place.”  
  
“Actually, it’s Professor Lupin,” Luna called back. “I think he’s here because of a life or death situation.”  
  
“Oh, well, that’s different then,” said Parvati, as she walked up to stand beside Luna. She was much more soberly dressed, in a large blue dressing-gown and fluffy Niffler-slippers.   
  
“Come in and have a cup of raspberry tea,” said Luna, gesturing him inside. “We don’t mind. Do we, Parvati?”  
  
“I suppose not,” Parvati grumbled, rubbing her eyes. “But you’ve got to promise you’re not going to tell anyone about—well, about this. My parents don’t know, you see…I told Padma, and she didn’t think very much of it, so—”  
  
“It’s all right, Parvati,” said Luna, as Remus sat at their crooked kitchen table. One of its legs was propped up by what looked like a half-melted ceramic garden gnome.  
  
“Yes, really, I won’t tell anyone,” said Remus, trying to smile reassuringly as he glanced around, alarmed by the state of the flat. It was even worse than the place he’d shared with Sirius after they’d graduated: the sink was over-flowing, the carpet was nearly hidden by stained newspapers, and there were books stacked to the ceiling, held up with spells. A huge brown dog was asleep on the sofa, snoring and pawing at the air, beside a stack of empty peanut butter jars.   
  
Luna handed him a cup of steaming pink liquid, and he took a sip, trying not to grimace at the cloying sweetness.  
  
“He’s in love with Sirius Black,” said Luna. “Aren’t you, Professor?”  
  
Remus choked on the tea, coughing until Parvati thumped him on the back.  
  
“Really?” she asked, grinning. “Are you?”  
  
Remus nodded, setting the tea down and hoping he’d drunk enough to be polite.   
  
“How’d you know that, Loony?” Parvati asked. “And why didn’t you ever tell me?”  
  
“Oh, I didn’t think it was important,” said Luna. “And I only know because Harry told me. He took me on a trip to the London zoo last year, do you remember? I’d always wanted to see the penguins.” She smiled, dreamily. “Anyway, Harry didn’t seem to be enjoying himself, so I asked him what was wrong. After he told me, I said it all sounded quite sad, and I asked him whether Sirius had been loved by anyone else. Then Harry was quiet for the rest of the day, and bought me a helium balloon.”  
  
“That was thoughtful of you, Luna,” said Remus. “Thank you.”  
  
“Well, that’s different, then,” said Parvati. “We’re all in the same boat. So where have you been?”  
  
“I went to visit Sirius, actually.”  
  
Remus told them the story, beginning with the prophecy at Sybill’s shop and ending with his meeting with Pluto.   
  
“I’m glad we ran into each other at Flourish & Blotts,” said Luna. “Otherwise I never would have told you to go to Cardigan Alley.”  
  
“Why did you tell me that?” Remus asked. “After all, you couldn’t have known what would happen…could you?  
  
“Sometimes I just know things,” said Luna, slowly twisting her necklace out of her tangled hair.   
  
“I can vouch for that,” said Parvati, leaning over to help pull the necklace free. “So you need my help, Remus?”  
  
“I’d like your help, but I can find someone else who plays an instrument, if need be.”  
  
“I’d be happy to help,” said Parvati, smiling. “It’s been too long since I had an adventure, and I never really got the chance to explore the Forbidden Forest. Would you like to come too, Loony?”  
  
“Not really,” she replied. “I don’t mind the forest, but I’m afraid of the giant spiders.”  
  
Parvati scoffed. “Spiders? What spiders? Come on, it’ll be exciting! Where’s your adventurous spirit?”  
  
“I was in Ravenclaw, actually,” said Luna, with a frown. “And there really _are _giant spiders, you know.”  
  
“There are,” Remus confirmed. “I’ve met them.”  
  
“Oh…well,” said Parvati, blanching but trying to hide it with a courageous grin. “I don’t mind. Bring on the spiders! I’ll just go fetch my violin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to anyone who can spot my geeky _X-Files_ homage.
> 
> I’m using massive amounts of creative licence with the mythology, and some of the things I say about Cerberus are my own invention.


	13. Chapter 13

McGonagall hadn’t changed the Head’s Office much in the years since Dumbledore’s death. The décor was done in red-and-gold tartan, and there were less bewildering magical instruments scattered around, but otherwise it was the same, down to the musty-sweet smell of beeswax candles, dust and confectionary. Remus felt like he was still at school, summoned to Dumbledore’s office for some misdemeanour. Although they’d worked together for years, he had trouble looking McGonagall in the eye as he told his story.   
  
When he got to the part about Moody, however, he started feeling more comfortable. McGonagall became involved in his narrative; it was personal for her, as well. She didn’t say anything about Moody’s words—like Dumbledore, she only smiled—but she sat up straighter; and when Remus spoke of Dumbledore, she let out a quiet gasp.  
  
“So he’s—” she cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses, then tried to appear nonchalant. “He’s well, then?”  
  
“Very well,” said Remus, with a reassuring smile. “Actually, I don’t think he’s ever been happier.”   
  
He gave her a moment to recover. She took a sip of tea and a bite of one of her ever-present shortbread biscuits, glanced over at Dumbledore’s portrait, and then nodded for Remus to continue.  
  
When he’d finished, she arched her eyebrows. “You wish to inflict Sirius on the world for a second time?” she asked.  
  
He smiled. “You think I’m incapable of keeping him leashed and muzzled?”  
  
“What goes on behind closed doors should be strictly between the two of you,” she replied, in her schoolmarm voice. Then she turned to Parvati, her eyes sparkling. “Would you care for another shortbread biscuit, Miss. Patil?”  
  
Parvati looked like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She glanced at Remus, then McGonagall, then down at her violin case. “Er…no thanks, Headmistress.”  
  
“Remus?”  
  
“I’m fine, thank you.”  
  
“Very well.” McGonagall got to her feet, leaning heavily on the cane she’d needed since the war. She walked across her office to the fireplace. “I suppose you’d like me to summon Firenze?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
Parvati flushed. “Firenze?” she whispered.  
  
Remus gave her a curious look. “What about Firenze?”  
  
“Nothing,” Parvati muttered, turning her head to hide a blush. “He taught me Divination, that’s all. Why do we need his help?”   
  
McGonagall glanced at her knowingly, while Remus suppressed a smile of understanding. “Firenze knows his way around the Forbidden Forest,” he explained. “He’s an old friend of mine, and he owes me a favour.”  
  
“What kind of favour?” Parvati asked.   
  
Remus glanced at McGonagall, who gave a firm shake of her head. The favour concerned Fenrir Greyback: the cause of the vivid scars that ran across Parvarti’s neck and face, as well as the deaths of several of her classmates.  
  
“It’s not important,” said Remus, hoping she wouldn’t probe further.  
  
He needn’t have worried. In another moment, Firenze was clambering out of the fireplace, which stretched to accommodate his palomino body. When he’d finally squeezed into the room, he shook his platinum-blonde hair and pawed at the ground, his muscles rippling.   
  
Parvati stared at him with glazed eyes, while Remus struggled to keep a straight face. Beautiful men usually drew him in, but he’d never seen Firenze as anything more than an ally and fellow half-breed; and a bit of a showy and pompous one, at that. Though Remus had referred to Firenze as an old friend, it was impossible to befriend the centaur. He was prone to speaking in riddles, preoccupied with the stars, and seemed to lack a sense of humour.  
  
“Remus Lupin,” said Firenze, with a short bow of respect.  
  
“Firenze, it’s good to see you.”   
  
Remus stood and they shook hands, and then Firenze nodded to Parvati.  
  
“Parvati Patil.”  
  
Parvati stood, unsteadily clutching her violin case. She held out her hand for him to shake. “Hel—hello, Professor.”  
  
“As I am no longer your Professor, you may call me by name.”  
  
“All right. Firenze.”  
  
McGonagall, still standing by the fireplace, rolled her eyes heavenward. Remus turned his head to hide a grin.  
  
“You wished to speak with me about the Forest?” Firenze enquired in his deep, detached tone. “I am afraid that my brethren and I have not been reunited. I have not visited there in many seasons.”  
  
“Actually, I’m interested in an event which occurred before your banishment,” Remus explained. “Do you remember the three-headed dog that Hagrid released into the Forest, some years ago?”  
  
“Of course. Professor Dumbledore warned us and we were cautious, keeping watch over the dog. We found it interesting that the dog’s release coincided with the beginning of a celestial event: the time of year humans refer to as ‘the dog days of summer’, when the brightest star, Sirius, is most visible. It appeared to be a sign, though of what we could not foretell.”  
  
“Can you tell us how to find the dog?”  
  
“It lives in a cave, in the remains of the largest stone wall, approximately four miles into the Forest from the west. There is a narrow path that Hagrid often walked; one that I think you may have taken before, too. Go past the lightning-struck trees, past the mirror pool, and past the carved pillar. Leave the path where it bends by the brook and walk past the two black pines: the wall will be plainly visible. Do not stray further from the path than you must. At night, the dog prowls and eats whatever it can find. It sleeps during the day, but awakens at the slightest sound.”  
  
“There are walls and pillars in the Forbidden Forest?” Parvati asked, fascinated.  
  
“We do not speak of such matters,” said Firenze coldly, as though she’d offended him.  
  
Remus decided it was time to end their conversation. “Thank you very much for your help, Firenze. I consider your debt repaid.”  
  
Firenze nodded, expressionless. “Good day, Remus Lupin and Parvati Patil.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It was nearly afternoon, but the Hogwarts grounds were still cloaked in early morning mist. The air was crisp and smelt of pine, and the Forest loomed like a curtain as tall as the sky, concealing a thousand secrets. Remus had spent many full-moon nights with his friends beneath its formidable canopy, and he felt a strange affection towards it. Parvati, on the other hand, had grown grim since they’d left the castle, shivering despite her winter robes and drawing them tighter around her body.  
  
“It’s all right,” Remus told her. “Really, the Forest isn’t half as bad as it’s made out to be. Its bark is much worse than its bite.”  
  
“I’m not worried,” said Parvati, with a shaky grin. “Just cold.” She rubbed her hands and blew on them, to emphasise the point.  
  
“I know exactly where we’re going, in any case,” said Remus, as they approached the trees and the beginning of a thin, well-trodden path. “I’ve visited the Forest many times—”  
  
“As a wolf,” Parvati muttered.  
  
“Yes, but also as a human. I’ve conducted research and spoken with various magical creatures, including the centaurs.”  
  
“Did you speak to the giant spiders, then?”  
  
“I visited them with Hagrid, just once,” said Remus, with a slight shudder. “It was not a pleasant experience.” Parvati paled, huddling around her violin case, and he briefly laid a hand on her shoulder. “There’s no need to worry. We’re not going anywhere near the spiders’ enclave; and for once, my status as a werewolf is a positive thing. When they smell me, very few creatures will try to attack us. Trust me, Parvati. I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought this was a suicide mission.”  
  
She nodded. They stepped under the leafy canopy and onto the path. Remus could see the twisted branches of the four lightning-struck trees up ahead. He strode towards them, crunching the carpet of needles and leaves. Parvati hurried to catch up, taking sharp, unsteady breaths.  
  
They walked in silence, cautious and watchful, their wands out at all times. Remus looked up and down, as well as from side to side, mindful that creatures could attack from any angle. The Forest was eerily quiet, however, and no attacks came. They soon reached the mirror pool: a large, round body of water that gleamed and reflected like silver despite the Forest’s gloom. Parvati, captivated, started towards it.   
  
Remus tugged her back by the sleeve. “It pulls you in,” he said, keeping his voice low and soft. “I’ve seen it happen. No one knows how it works, or where it leads.”  
  
Parvati sighed. “Luna would love this. I wish she’d come.”  
  
“Well, I’m glad she’ll be able to tell Harry and the others where we’ve gone, and what’s been happening.”   
  
Remus had thought about keeping Harry in the dark, but he’d decided the boy had a right to know what was going on with his godfather, even if it ended in disaster. Harry would find out soon enough, whatever happened.   
  
_Don’t get your hopes up_, Remus told himself, over and over; but for once, this litany felt empty and trite. For the first time since Sirius’s death, Remus’s hopes for the future were soaring, and he couldn’t drag them back down.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
As they walked further in, the Forest grew increasingly dense and dark, until it was truly _the darkest region under daylight_ from the prophecy. They both needed _Lumos_ to see the path, and Remus had trouble spotting the carved pillar, though he’d visited it several times before. Over the millennia it had tilted sideways like the leaning tower of Pisa, eventually coming to rest against the wide trunk of a moss-covered oak tree. The carvings were indecipherable, inscribed in a language from the time before the Celts.  
  
“So, an ancient civilisation,” Parvati whispered, walking around the pillar and tracing its curly hieroglyphs. “Why didn’t Firenze want to talk about it?”  
  
“He and the other centaurs have a near-religious reverence for these ancient ruins. I’m not sure why—like you, I asked about it and was rebuffed.”  
  
“Is the wall close by, then?”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
Parvati took a deep breath. She drew out her violin and miniaturised the case, sliding it into her pocket. “I’m ready,” she said. “What piece would you like me to play?”   
  
“Anything soothing and hypnotic. What about something by Bach? His first sonata for violin?”  
  
“All right.”  
  
They walked for a few more minutes, until they reached the brook and a sharp bend in the path. It took them a long time to locate the two black pines: massive trees that stood several yards from the path, jet-black down to their needles and cones.  
  
Without a word, Remus left the path and Parvati followed him. They crunched ankle-deep through leaves and needles, and picked their way through blackberry brambles. Remus pulled out a compass he’d borrowed from McGonagall, taking note of their passage. Past the pines was a small clearing, with the crumbling remnants of a stone wall rising out of a thicket of brambles and thistles. A shaft of winter-grey sunlight poured through the canopy, illuminating the wall, and Remus felt like a Muggle archaeologist in the presence of a great find.   
  
Then, suddenly, there was an earth-shaking clamour of snuffling, pounding and scraping, followed by a deep growl. Firenze hadn’t lied when he’d said that Cerberus was awakened by the slightest sound.   
  
Remus pointed to the violin and Parvati nodded. She raised it to her shoulder, put the bow to the strings, and began to play. Remus smiled, impressed: her notes rang out in a clear, sharp swell, without a hint of pretension. The music disturbed a flock of ravens, which rose cawing from the trees surrounding the clearing. Parvati, with a determined set to her jaw, kept playing without a hitch.  
  
They walked closer, Parvati’s forehead beading with sweat as her anxiety grew. If her bow slipped and jarred a note, Cerberus would wake.  
  
Remus reached into his pocket, drawing out the vial of Sleeping Draught he’d borrowed from McGonagall’s new Potions Master; then, he took out a tiny metal-barred cage. When they reached Cerberus—a mountain of fur and flesh—his three mouths were snoring, tongues lolling over his razor-sharp teeth. Parvati kept playing as Remus poured the Sleeping Draught into each giant throat, and then enlarged the miniature cage.  
  
“Are you sure you can do this?” Parvati whispered, as her bow slid slowly and surely over the final bars of the piece.  
  
Remus shrugged and levitated Cerberus with the flick of his wand. He wasn’t sure how much energy it would take to float the three-headed dog out of the Forest, but the initial levitation was simple and painless. In a few moments, Cerberus was securely sleeping in the fastened cage, a foot from the ground.  
  
Parvati put away her violin and wiped her forehead. “It was easy,” she muttered, taking deep, shaky breaths.  
  
“Now comes the difficult part,” said Remus, eyeing the box speculatively. “I think we can carry this out easily enough. The cage has been enchanted to fly, and designed like the Knight Bus to squeeze through the gaps between trees. With both of us keeping it afloat, we shouldn’t tire too quickly. However, I doubt we’ll make it out undisturbed.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Haven’t you noticed how quiet the Forest is?”  
  
“I thought all the creatures were avoiding you because you’re a werewolf. You know, like you said before.”  
  
Remus glanced around. He’d been expecting something, _anything_, to happen while they were noisily capturing Cerberus, but he hadn’t seen or smelled another living creature, aside from the birds and the Forest itself.   
  
“The Forest is one large organism,” he explained. “It breathes in, and then it breathes out. I don’t want to alarm you, but I think the Forest has been holding its breath and we’re about to take a blast. I suppose it doesn’t want to lose Cerberus.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Every creature adds energy to the Forest, some more than most.” Remus turned to stare at the sleeping dog. “Come on; let’s get him out of here, as quickly as possible.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
They were walking past the mirror pool when it happened. Remus felt a tug on his left heel, and then he was on the ground, face-first with a grunt of surprise and pain, being dragged through the leaves, scrabbling with his hands, elbows, wand and knees.  
  
“Remus!” Parvati screamed, dropping her concentration and letting Cerberus’s cage crash to the ground. The three-headed dog woke with a roar and started throwing itself against the bars.  
  
Remus twisted onto his back and realised he was about two seconds from being pulled into the mirror pool. A leafy tendril had wrapped around his left shoe, tugging him forward. Without a thought, he blasted the shoe from his foot, rolled away from the pool, leapt to his feet and ran back towards Parvati, his cloak billowing around him.  
  
“Come on,” he hissed, “quickly!”   
  
Around them the Forest was stirring, the trees shifting and groaning. Tendrils from vines and creepers were curling towards them from every direction. Remus fired stunning spells as Parvati re-levitated the cage.   
  
Then, they ran, stumbling along the path. The cumbersome cage bounced on a cushion of air in front of them, shaking with Cerberus’s fury. They ran, their bodies aching as they tried to fight the Forest, keep Cerberus afloat, and move forward at the same time. Remus blasted the trees, wood splintering and cracking with the force of his adrenalin. This was for Sirius, he kept telling himself, but he was tiring, and when they reached the four lightning-struck trees he realised they might not make it out alive.  
  
“Almost there,” said Parvati, between clenched teeth, as they squeezed through increasingly narrow gaps between the trees.   
  
Remus tripped and she grabbed his elbow, hauling him to his feet. They reached the edge of the Forest and broke out into the daylight, Cerberus’s cage crashing onto the grass in front of them.  
  
“Oh shit,” Parvati gasped, falling to her knees.  
  
Remus bent double, taking shuddering breaths. He glanced over his shoulder at the Forest, which looked the same as ever, silent and menacing.   
  
“Thank Merlin,” he muttered, collapsing onto the winter-damp grass. Cerberus was still rampaging in his cage, threatening to break out at any moment. “Parvati, we need to quiet him,” Remus murmured, his cheek pressed to the grass until he shifted onto his back, panting, with sweat rolling into his hair and down his neck.  
  
She fumbled for her violin and began playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Cerberus immediately calmed, with three doggy sighs of contentment. Asleep, he was almost a beautiful beast, with his thick golden fur and Labrador-like faces. Remus met Parvati’s eyes, and they both smiled.   
  
_We’ve done it_, Remus thought. _Sirius will be free._  
  
A hard rain began to fall and a wind picked up, drawing a haunted sound through the trees and rippling the lake in the distance. Parvati’s hair swirled around her smiling face, illuminated by a flash of lightning; the last thing Remus saw before he blacked out.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“He’s waking up,” Hermione whispered. “His eyelids are fluttering.”  
  
“Yes, Hermione, we can see that,” said Ron, probably rolling his eyes; then, in a softer tone, he asked, “Want us to Floo the Healer, Harry?”  
  
“No, it’s all right,” Harry replied. “Let’s see how Remus feels.”  
  
“He should have brought us into the Forest with him,” said Hermione severely, but Remus could hear the worry in her voice. “I thought he had more sense than that.”  
  
“He did all right without us,” said Harry. “Besides, it’s better to take a smaller group into the Forest; it’s quieter, and there’s less chance of someone getting lost. He did the right thing. Remus, can you hear me?”  
  
“Yes,” Remus whispered, then coughed. “I can hear you, Harry.”   
  
He opened his eyes and found himself in an unfamiliar room. It looked like a cheap bed-and-breakfast: wooden beams criss-crossed the white ceiling, Tudor-style windows faced a rain-soaked garden, and a vase of dried marigolds stood on an otherwise bare dresser. Everything smelt, faintly, of an elderly lady’s perfume: a mix of lavender, vanilla and rose petals.  
  
“Where are we?”   
  
“Glastonbury, near the Tor,” Harry replied, his eyes full of concern. “It’s where Luna and Parvati told us to go. We’re staying with Mrs. Figg’s cousin, Maude. You’ve been out for more than a day.”  
  
“We were really worried,” Hermione added.  
  
Remus struggled to sit, but he was too weak to hold himself steady. Hermione moved behind him, fussing with his pillows until he was propped up.  
  
“Where’s Ginny?” he asked, glancing around, worried that she and Harry had broken their engagement.  
  
“Downstairs, making tea and scones with Luna and Parvati,” said Ron, from where he was standing behind Harry. He grinned at Remus. “It’s good to have you back.”   
  
Hermione walked over to stand beside Ron, taking his hand in a smooth, natural gesture, their fingers twining together.   
  
“You shouldn’t have gone into the Forest without us,” Hermione scolded.  
  
“He heard you the first time,” Ron retorted, even as he squeezed her hand and smiled at her.  
  
“We’ve got Fluffy concealed in the garden, dosed up on Sleeping Draught,” said Harry, ignoring them. “Are you really going to exchange him with Sirius?”  
  
Remus wanted to make a promise, but he couldn’t. “I’m going to try.”  
  
Harry’s eyes were alight with hope and longing, but there was also sorrow. Remus could hardly remember Harry without that sorrow.   
  
“Luna told me you met my parents, over there,” Harry whispered, leaning closer. “Is that true?”  
  
Remus reached out, covering Harry’s hand with his. He thought of Lily’s bright hair in the candlelight, and James’s mischievous grin. “They’re happy, Harry. You’ll see them again.”  
  
“Thank you,” Harry replied, barely audible over the rain outside. He ducked his head, blinking back tears. “Thank you.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
That night, Remus waited until everyone was asleep, before pulling on his clothes and creeping out the front door. After a pot of tea from the Healer and a plate of Ginny’s pumpkin scones, he was ready. He knew Harry and the others would insist he wait until morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Sirius was out there, probably worried out of his mind, wondering what was taking Remus so long.   
  
With two flicks of his wand, Remus levitated the cage and removed its Disillusionment charm, hoping the three-headed dog wouldn’t wake. Cerberus just grunted in his sleep and shifted, the cage groaning under his weight.   
  
Arabella’s cousin lived only a couple of miles from the Tor, down a winding country lane. Remus’s breath fogged the air in front of him. He didn’t pass any other houses, just fields surrounded by low stone walls, inhabited by huddled flocks of sheep. The rain had stopped, leaving the sky bright with stars and a quarter-moon to the south. In the pale light, the world was colourless, but the fallen rain made everything gleam like silver and diamonds. Up ahead, the Tor looked like a hole in the horizon: a crack in the Earth’s shell. Remus stared at it, and the thought of touching Sirius again made him tingle from head to toe.   
  
As he approached the base of the Tor, he tried to remember how he’d felt when Sybill had led him into it. What had she told him? _The Tor is both a hill and a valley…both inward and outward._ He began to climb, already tiring but knowing he could make it, if he just kept his mind on walking into the hill, rather than over it. The Tor seemed steeper than he remembered, but maybe that was the added effort of keeping Cerberus afloat.   
  
“Into the valley,” he muttered, sweat breaking out across his back.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
At the top of the Tor, Remus sat on the grass and put his head in his hands, defeated. A few minutes of despair passed by, before he looked up, straightened, and decided to rest a while before trying again.   
  
From this height, he could see all the lights of Glastonbury: mostly orange streetlamps, though there were a few cars and houses still lit up by their insomniac owners. Remus wondered what the Muggles would think if they knew he was sitting there, watching over them; a werewolf wizard, who’d carted a three-headed dog to the top of their main tourist attraction.  
  
“I don’t know if I can get inside the Tor,” Remus confessed to the sleeping Cerberus, whose cage rested just behind him. “And if I can’t, what then? Can I ask Sybill to help me? Can I wait for Proserpine to come out during the warmer months?”  
  
Cerberus, of course, said nothing.   
  
“It’s frustrating,” said Remus, picking at the grass beside him. “After all this, to be locked out.”  
  
Cerberus was completely silent. _I can’t even hear him breathing_, Remus thought, concerned, and he swivelled around.  
  
The cage was empty; the three-headed dog was gone. Remus staggered to his feet.  
  
“Sirius?” he called, into the night.   
  
There was no response.  
  
“Sirius?”   
  
Remus walked up to the cage, peering between the bars. Nothing.  
  
He leant against the cage, breathing hard, wondering if Pluto hadn’t kept his side of the bargain. It wouldn’t be the first time a god played tricks with a mortal. How could he have been so foolish?  
  
“Sirius!” he shouted, starting to feel like an idiot. “Sirius!”  
  
“You don’t have to yell, Moony,” said a smiling voice beside him. “I’m here.”  
  
Remus froze, the breath knocked out of him, and then he was in Sirius’s arms, with Sirius’s face pressed into his hair, hot breath on his cheek.   
  
It took him a few seconds to react; then they were grappling with each other, awkwardly exploring with hands and mouths. Remus thought if he let go for a moment, Sirius would disappear, and Sirius seemed to be thinking the same thing. Neither of them spoke, their kisses breaking only long enough for them to breathe. Sirius tasted like he had at Grimmauld Place—of Ogden’s Finest, cigarettes and unwashed bed-linens—but underneath there was sweat and Sirius’s unique scent, which more than made up for it.   
  
Gradually, their kisses grew more deliberate, more focused. Remus kissed down Sirius’s neck, the stubble making his tongue itch and his lips burn, and then up to Sirius’s ears, where the skin was smooth and fine, and hair tickled his nose. Sirius groaned and pressed their mouths together, until the adolescent eagerness of their kisses faded into adult passion, and Remus moaned low in his throat.  
  
Finally, Remus slid his hand into Sirius’s robes, feeling the steady thump of his heart and the expansion of his lungs as he breathed. They pressed their foreheads together and stood still for a moment.  
  
“Think we can get it right this time, Moony?” Sirius murmured. “I don’t know if I can handle any more of these narrow escapes.”  
  
Remus chuckled, softly. “Does anyone ever get it right?”  
  
“Well, how about we settle for growing old together and dying peacefully in our sleep?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” said Remus, and kissed him again.  
  
Sirius undid Remus’s cloak and pushed it off his shoulders, before starting on his robes, fumbling with the clasps.  
  
“It’s cold,” Remus protested, kissing under Sirius’s chin. “We should…we should go somewhere, inside…”  
  
“Actually, I’ve never felt this warm before,” Sirius murmured, pulling Remus up to kiss him again. “Must be a side-effect of being resurrected.”  
  
“Being resurrected turns you on, does it?” Remus gasped between kisses, untying Sirius’s robes.  
  
Sirius grinned. “Must do.”  
  
They sank to their knees in the grass, their fingers tracing bare skin. Sirius was all sleek black and silver lines in the night, and Remus wondered what he looked like to Sirius; probably faded and washed out, just a paler version of his already-pale self. Even so, he’d never been touched with such reverence before. Sirius traced every scar and kissed every freckle, and they were naked before Remus realised it, pressed together on the cold grass, shivering but warm where it counted.   
  
Remus had always loved Sirius’s body, but he’d never worshipped it like this before; never understood how precious the pulse of blood beneath Sirius’s skin could be, or the goose bumps that rose over his bare arms and legs, or the feel of his cock, hard and smooth, and vitally, brilliantly hot. Remus didn’t leave anything untouched, and neither did Sirius. They’d never been so thorough with each other.   
  
When Remus finally came, gasping against Sirius’s throat, he felt as though a silent musical note was being drawn from his body, long and aching. Sirius followed, head thrown back, his body pulled taut as a plucked string. Then they held each other: sweaty, messy and panting. Neither one of them was young or particularly handsome.   
  
_But nothing_, Remus thought, tousling Sirius’s hair and smiling up at him, _nothing could be more beautiful. _  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“I used to imagine you returning on a night like this,” said Remus, when they were sprawled out on the grass, Sirius’s hand pressed over his heart.  
  
“Afraid you’re dreaming now?”  
  
Remus smiled up at the stars. Then he shifted, grass tickling between his shoulder blades, and turned to smile at Sirius. “No. If I were dreaming, do you think we’d be so bloody cold?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “wild(at our first)beasts uttered human words  
\- our second coming made stones sing like birds -  
but o the starhushed silence which our third’s”
> 
> —e.e. cummings, #72 in _73 poems_


	14. Chapter 14

It rained the evening after Harry and Ginny’s wedding. They’d rented a villa for the reception, out in the wilds of Italy, so it didn’t matter when the sky opened and the paper lanterns spluttered out.   
  
The revellers hurried inside, laughing and shrieking, leaving tables cluttered with empty champagne flutes and wedding-cake smeared plates. The rain tore streamers from the trees and knocked over the makeshift pulpit. Inside the villa, every fireplace blazed and every mug overflowed with Butterbeer, and it seemed like the party might go on all night. It didn’t, of course. In the early hours of the morning, the newlyweds stumbled off to bed, followed by every other drunken couple.  
  
When the festivities had died down and the living-room fireplace was reduced to smouldering embers, Tonks stood by the window and watched the rain fall into a floodlit swimming pool. She hadn’t seen rain in a long time. After her stint in Romania, she’d headed to Africa, out into the Sahara desert. She’d been there for months, living in a tent with twenty other Aurors and researchers, when a scrawny desert bird brought the news about Sirius. Another few months had passed before the wedding invitation arrived, and she’d Apparated from city to city, all the way to Tuscany, with nothing but her wand and the light-weight robes on her back.  
  
Italy was humid, this time of year, and the moisture made her skin tingle. She found it difficult to stay in one shape: the cloying air urged her body to grow more lush, to bloom out like a flower. She held it in, recalling the comforting stillness and aridity of the desert air.  
  
Before travelling to Africa, she’d never thought about going there; now, she couldn’t wait to get back. She’d seen more in the months she’d been away than most people saw in their lives; and after the war against Voldemort, she’d thought she’d seen it all. She found it strange to think of herself, months ago, deciding to leave Remus for Romania. Back then, she’d thought she was living in an epilogue, with nothing to look forward to but a simple, peaceful life at home, and maybe some mundane adventures as an Auror.   
__  
Turns out me and Remus both got more than we bargained for, she thought, smiling.   
  
Since she’d arrived at the wedding, she’d wanted a chance to speak with him alone; after everything, she still considered him a friend—maybe her best friend—and she missed him. He’d been with Sirius, of course, while she’d been surrounded by what felt like swarms of old friends. It was nice to see everyone, but after Africa, where she could escape into the desert whenever she wanted, it was a bit overwhelming.   
  
Looking out at the rain, Tonks assumed that Remus had already gone upstairs with Sirius. She just hoped he’d have time to talk in the morning, before they went their separate ways. It was startling, then, when she heard soft footfalls behind her, and turned to find Remus standing there, clearing his throat.  
  
“Tonks,” he said, with an awkward half-smile. “I was afraid you’d gone to bed.”  
  
“Me too,” she blurted. “I mean…that you had.”  
  
Remus rubbed a nervous had across the back of his neck. “I just wanted to…to talk to you. Molly told me all about your adventures in Africa—”  
  
“She cornered you in the kitchen, did she?”  
  
“You too?”  
  
Tonks nodded, with a rueful smile. “It’s best not to repeat what she told me, though.”  
  
Remus chuckled and leant up against the window frame. Tonks was glad to see him relaxing, finally; she didn’t want things to be tense between them. She’d never ended a relationship so cleanly. It had hurt at the time, in a crushing, sleepless way, but then she’d moved on, to other lovers and another country. When Remus had brought Sirius back, she’d known things had worked out in the best way possible, for all three of them.  
  
“Where’s Sirius?” she asked.  
  
Remus glanced through the window. “Oh, he can’t get enough of the rain. He’ll be out there for hours. I’m not sure how long this will last—this euphoria he’s experiencing. Everything is new to him. I like it, though. I haven’t seen him like this since our last year of school, when…” He trailed off and gave her an uncomfortable look. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You probably don’t want to hear—”  
  
She gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, Remus. Honestly.”  
  
Remus paused, studying her, but then he relaxed again. “I’m glad.”  
  
“Why don’t you go out and join him?”  
  
He shrugged and smiled. “I told him I wanted a chat with you. Feel like a cup of tea?”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Close to dawn, when even Tonks had gone to bed, Remus was sitting at the kitchen’s broad oak table, sipping his third mug of tea and reading a Wilkie Collins novel. Suddenly, a muddy hand clamped over his mouth and a voice whispered, “Don’t try to struggle.”  
  
Remus, shaking with laughter, bit down on the hand. Sirius yelped and stumbled back against the kitchen counter, upsetting a stack of plastic cups that clattered to the floor.  
  
“Ow, Moony, that was uncalled for,” Sirius muttered, blowing on his fingers.  
  
“Serves you right, prat,” Remus replied. He marked his place in the novel and set it down on the table, before standing up and swiftly pressing Sirius against the counter, kissing him.  
  
“Mmfh,” said Sirius, pushing him away for a moment. “So, what did my cousin have to say for herself? Pining away for you, is she? I wouldn’t blame her.”  
  
“Actually she’s quite all right.”  
  
“If you call living in the Sahara ‘all right’.”  
  
Remus ignored him. “We had a very civilised conversation, and I’m hoping we can remain friends.”  
  
“It’s fine, Moony,” said Sirius, in a more serious tone, before giving him a brief, soft kiss. “I like her, too. She’s my cousin, after all, and I’d like to get to know her. Besides, Andie and Ted were always there for us. Remember that week they let us house-sit for them, when we were eighteen?”  
  
“How could I forget?” Remus murmured, tangling his fingers in Sirius’s hair and pulling him closer.  
  
“We’d been living in that shoebox flat,” said Sirius, between kisses. “Worst place we ever stayed. That bitch who lived beside us kept thumping her broom against the wall, whenever we so much as breathe—”  
  
“Mmm.”   
  
“—so it was one of the best weeks of my life, when they let us stay in their house. If they’d known what we were getting up to—”  
  
Remus moaned, silencing Sirius with his tongue and sliding a hand beneath his _Clash_ t-shirt; of course, at that moment Molly Weasley strode into the kitchen. She made a choked, startled sound, then turned around and scurried out.  
  
Sirius tilted his head back and Remus pressed his forehead against Sirius’s shoulder, both of them laughing uncontrollably.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Harry and Ginny took their honeymoon in an undisclosed location, but they’d rented the villa for two weeks. They told the wedding party that anyone could use it, so while most of the guests returned to their daily grind, Remus and Sirius stayed on with a few other couples. Then, for the last three days, they had the place to themselves. Out in the Italian countryside, miles from anyone, they took their own kind of honeymoon.   
  
On the final night at the villa, Sirius slept easily, on his back with his arms and legs sprawled out, while Remus lay facing him and struggled to keep his eyes closed. He’d been having trouble sleeping since Sirius’s return. At first, he’d been afraid of waking up to find Sirius gone, but that fear had faded after a few weeks.  
  
Now, he stayed awake trying to remember the events of the past year. Sirius had been dead—that was certain—and Remus had somehow brought him back to life; but Remus couldn’t remember how it had happened, or where Sirius had returned from.   
  
Remus knew he’d journeyed somewhere for a few months, but the details eluded him. When people asked him about it, he told them it had been a great adventure, but that was all he could say with any honesty. He couldn’t help thinking it had something to do with Sybill Trelawney, but when he’d spoken to her at the wedding she’d seemed perfectly normal, if a little more befuddled than usual.  
  
The previous day, he’d finally summoned the nerve to ask Sirius about it, while they’d been sitting beside the swimming pool. Sirius had thought for a moment. A dry leaf had drifted from an overhanging tree, and they’d watched as tiny ripples spread and faded from where it landed in the water. Around them, bees had hummed, cicadas had chirped, and a light wind had stirred the branches of the olive grove beside the villa.  
  
“It’s odd,” Sirius had said, finally, “because I know I was dead, and I know I was miserable, but I honestly can’t remember more than that.”  
  
“Were you in hell?”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
“Neither do I. It doesn’t ring true.”   
  
“I think I was just deprived. Of life, you know. And everything.”  
  
“I should have written it down,” Remus had muttered, as he’d started smoothing another coat of sunscreen onto Sirius’s bare back.  
  
Sirius had shaken his head. “You know, I don’t think it matters. I think, wherever I was, we’ll be there again when we die. We’ll find out then.”  
  
“James and Lily were there, weren’t they?”  
  
“I think so.” Sirius had leaned back against Remus’s chest, and Remus had wrapped him in his arms. “Don’t worry so much, Moony,” Sirius had murmured, turning to press a kiss to Remus’s shoulder. “It’s not good for you.”  
  
“All right.”  
  
It was different at night, though. The cicadas had fallen silent, and the moon shone in through the slatted blinds, reminding Remus that it wouldn’t be long before his next transformation. Sirius snuffled into his pillow, and Remus reached out to stroke a curl of black hair away from his forehead.  
  
_I spoke to a lot of people about what happened, when I first returned_, Remus thought, with a frown. _Maybe one of them will remember. _  
  
He yawned and shifted closer to Sirius, draping his arm across Sirius’s chest and letting his head rest against Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius was smooth and warm, and smelt of chlorine, sunscreen and sweat. His heart pumped a solid beat against Remus’s wrist.  
  
In that instant, years of Remus’s life seemed to fold up and disappear. He and Sirius were eighteen again, spending a week house-sitting for Andie and Ted. The future could tear them to pieces, and probably would, but while they were together and in love, nothing else mattered.  
  
Remus smiled. _Maybe I should just forget about it, like Sirius wants. That might be for the best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And no one knows where the night is going  
And no one knows why the wine is flowing  
Oh love, I need you  
I need you, I need you, I need you  
Oh, I need you now”
> 
> – Leonard Cohen, ‘The Guests’
> 
> \---
> 
> Easter Egg (a recent article by Colin Creevy in _The Quibbler_):
> 
> BLACK PREFERS MAGENTA?  
Back from the dead and out of the closet!
> 
> After facing everything from war to Azkaban to the Dementor’s Kiss to death itself, Sirius Black is looking forward to settling down and starting a family. Rumours have linked the recently resurrected Black to everyone from popular psychic and singing sensation Lavender Brown to the Chudley Cannon’s newly appointed Chaser Katie Bell. Black is intent on pursuing relationships with the opposite sex, perhaps even on finding himself a wife.
> 
> OR IS HE?
> 
> In an exclusive interview with this intrepid reporter, Black revealed that he is now, and has always been, a homosexual.
> 
> “It’s true,” Black confessed this morning, over a bowl of lightly toasted muesli. “I’m gay. Would you pass the pumpkin juice?"
> 
> Claiming to no longer “give a flying f**k what people think”, Black personally gave me his permission to print this exclusive story. However, he remained cagey about the identities of his lovers, only admitting that there had indeed been lovers. He added that at the moment he is seeing someone and, “Couldn’t be happier.” 
> 
> The news of Black’s sexuality must come as a blow to the hundreds of witches who voted him “Most Eligible British Wizard” in _Witch Weekly’s_ recent poll…[for full story, turn to page 4]
> 
> \---
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader, and to everyone who has commented on and recommended this story. Your support has meant a lot to me.
> 
> I wrote this story to help myself get through a tough time, and it worked.


End file.
